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IN   THE    PERMANENT   WAY 


•The^)<^o 


In  the 
Permanent  Way 


BY 

FLORA   ANNIE   STEEL 

AUTHOR    OF    "on   THE   FACE   OF  THE   WATERS,"    ETC. 


' '  5  ;  >  3  J    J ) 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

LONDON:  MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Ltd. 

1897 

All  rights  reserved 


Copyright,  1S97, 
By  the   M  ACM  ill  an   COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped,  October,  1897.     Reprinted.  November, 
1897. 


J.  S.  Cashing  &  Co.  -  Berwick  &  Smith 
Norwood  Mass.  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 


Shub'rat 

In  the  Permanent  Way 

On  the  Second  Story  . 

Glory  -  or  -Woman 

At  the  Great  Duri?ar 

The  Blue-throated  God 

A  Tourist  Ticket 

The  King's  Well  . 

Uma  Himavutee 

Young  Lochinvar  . 

A  Bit  of  Land 

The  Sorroavful  Hour 

A  Danger  Signal 

Amor  Vincit  Omnia 

The  Wings  of  a  Dove 

The  Swimmers 

The  Fakeer's  Drum 

At  Her  Beck  and  Call 

Music  hath  Charms 


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386 


^U  i  U 


SHUB'RAT 


The  church-gong  hung  from  the  level  branch  of 
a  spreading  sirus  tree,  whence  the  slight  breeze  of 
dawn,  rustling  the  dry  pods  of  a  past  summer  and 
stirring  the  large  soft  puff-blossoms  of  the  present, 
seemed  to  gather  up  a  faint  whisper  and  a  fainter 
perfume  to  be  upborne  into  space  —  further  and 
further  and  further  —  by  the  swelling  sound-waves 
of  the  gong  as  it  vibrated  to  old  Deen  Mahomed's 
skilful  stroke. 

More  like  a  funeral  knell,  this,  calling  the  dead 
to  forgetfulness,  than  a  cheerful  summons  of  the 
living  to  give  thanks  for  life,  for  creation  and 
preservation.  You  could  hear  each  mellow  note 
quiver  into  silence,  before  —  loud  and  full  with  a 
sort  of  hollow  boom  —  the  great  disc  of  bronze  shook 
once  more  to  its  own  resounding  noise ;  seeming  in 
its  agitation  to  feel  the  strangeness  of  the  task  more 
than  the  striker;  though,  to  say  sooth,  few  things 
in  earth  or  heaven  were  more  incongruous  than  this 
church  chime  and  the  man  who  rang  it.  For  Deen 
Mahomed,  as  his  name  implies,  was  of  the  faith  of 

B  1 


Islam ;  fierce-featured,  hawk-eyed,  with  the  nameless 
look  of  his  race;  a  look  suiting  the  curved  sword 
he  wore,  in  virtue  of  his  office  as  watchman,  better 
than  the  brass  badge  slung  over  his  shoulder  pro- 
claiming him  to  be  a  member  of  the  Indian  Church 
Establishment  —  that  alien  Church  in  an  alien  land. 

And  yet  the  old  man's  figure  fitted  close  with  the 
building  he  guarded;  for  despite  the  new  title  of 
St.  John's-in-the-Wilderness,  the  church  remained 
outwardly  what  it  had  been  built  to  be  —  a  Ma- 
homedan  tomb.  Its  white  dome  and  corner  cupolas 
rose  familiarly  into  the  blue  sky  beyond  the  sirus 
trees,  where,  even  at  this  early  hour,  a  hint  of  com- 
ing heat  was  to  be  seen  in  a  certain  pallidness  and 
hardness.  Within,  beneath  that  central  dome,  en- 
circled now  by  pious  Christian  texts,  lay  buried  a 
champion  of  another  God,  whose  name,  interlaced 
into  a  thousand  delicate  traceries,  still  formed  the 
decoration  of  each  architrave,  each  screen;  lay 
buried,  let  us  hope,  beyond  sight  or  sound  of  what 
went  on  above  his  helplessness. 

How  this  change  had  come  about  is  of  no  moment 
to  the  story.  Such  things  have  been,  nay,  are,  in 
India,  seeming  in  truth  more  fantastic  when  set 
down  in  pen  and  ink  than  they  do  when  seen  in 
the  warm  clasp  of  that  Indian  sunlight  which  shines 
down  indifferently  on  so  many  a  strange  anomaly 
of  caste,  and  creed,  and  custom.     Most  likely  when 


shub'rat  3 

the  wave  of  evangelical  fervour  reached  the  East  to 
prepare  the  way  for  the  Great  Sacrifice  of  purifica- 
tion by  blood  and  fire  which  came  to  native  and 
alien  alike  in  the  horrors  and  wonders  of  "  Fifty- 
seven,"  some  pious  bureaucrat  had  felt  a  certain 
militant  satisfaction  in  handing  over  a  heathen  edi- 
fice to  Christian  uses.  Such  things  have  their  senti- 
mental side ;  and  this  tomb  had  been  —  like  many 
another  —  Crown  property,  and  so  had  become  ours 
by  right  of  conquest.  No  one  else,  at  any  rate,  had 
laid  claim  to  it,  except,  in  some  vague,  mysterious 
way,  old  Deen  Mahomed,  and  he  only  to  its  guar- 
dianship as  being  "the  dust  of  the  feet  of  the 
descendants  of  HuzriU-Ameerulla-moomeereen-ulli- 
Moortdza,  the  Holy."  In  other  words,  an  inheritor 
of  the  saints  in  light. 

Now  this  sort  of  title  is  one  not  likely  to  find 
favour  in  alien  eyes.  Despite  this,  Deen  Mahomed 
remained  guardian  of  the  Church  of  St.  John's-in- 
the-Wilderness,  thanks  to  that  ineradicable  sense 
—  one  may  almost  say  common  sense  —  of  justice 
which  dies  hard  in  the  Englishman  of  all  creeds. 
The  only  difference  to  the  old  man  —  at  least  so 
the  authorities  assumed  —  being  that  he  wore  a 
sword,  a  badge,  chimed  the  church-gong,  and  re- 
ceived the  munificent  sum  of  five  rupees  a  month 
for  performing  these  trivial  duties  ;  which  latter  fact 
naturally  put   the  very  idea   of   discontent   beyond 


4  SHUB  HAT 

the  pale  of  practical  politics.  Apparently  Deen  Ma- 
homed was  of  this  opinion  also ;  at  least  he  never 
hinted  at  objection. 

Even  now,  as  he  stood  unmovable  save  for  one 
slowly  swinging  arm,  there  was  neither  dislike  nor 
approval  on  the  fierce,  yet  indifferent  face  looking 
out  at  the  white  glare  of  the  tomb  beyond  the  sirus 
shade,  at  the  worshippers  —  laden  with  Bibles  and 
Prayer-books  —  passing  up  the  steps,  crossing  the 
plinth  and  so  disappearing  within,  and  at  the  long 
line  of  vehicles  —  from  the  Commissioner's  barouche 
to  the  clerk's  palki  —  seeking  the  shade  to  await 
their  owners'  return  when  the  service  should  be 
over.  Not  so  wearisome  a  task  as  might  be  imag- 
ined, since  the  big  bazaar  was  near  for  refreshment 
or  recreation;  so  near,  in  fact,  that  any  solemn 
pause  was  apt  to  give  prominence  to  the  twanging 
of  unmentionable  sutaras  or  bursts  of  unmistakable 
laughter.  For,  as  ill-luck  would  have  it,  not  only 
the  bazaar,  but  the  very  worst  quarter  of  it,  lay 
just  behind  the  fringe  of  date  palms  which  gave 
such  local  colour  to  the  sketches  of  the  church 
which  the  Chaplain's  wife  drew  for  their  friends  at 
home.  And  yet,  in  a  way,  this  close  propinquity 
to  the  atrocious  evils  of  heathendom  had  its  charm 
for  the  little  colony  of  the  elect  who  lived  beside 
the  Chaplain.  In  the  still  evenings,  when  the  scent 
of  the  oranges  which  were  blossoming  madly  in  the 


SHUB  RAT  O 

watered  gardens  round  the  houses  filled  the  air, 
the  inhabitants  would  sit  out  among  the  fast-fading 
English  flowers,  and  shake  their  heads  in  sorrowful 
yet  satisfied  sympathy  with  their  own  position  as 
exiles  in  that  invisible  Sodom  and  Gomorrah.  In- 
visible, because  St.  John's-in-the-Wilderness  rose 
between  them  and  it,  shutting  out  everything  save 
the  impartial  sky,  whence  the  sunshine  poured  down 
alike  on  Christian  and  heathen,  just  and  unjust. 
Thus  the  visible  church  was  to  them  as  the  invisible 
one;  a  veil  between  them  and  the  people. 

It  was  a  square  building  recessed  and  buttressed 
to  a  hexagon.  The  Chaplain,  however,  preferred 
to  call  it  a  St.  Andrew's  cross,  and  perhaps  he  was 
right.  Perhaps  again  Deen  Mahomed  and  his  cult 
had  really  had  as  little  to  say  to  its  form  as  the 
Chaplain  ;  such  responsibility  being  reserved  to  the 
primeval  sraddha,  or  four-pointed  death-offering. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  there  was  a  coolness  between 
the  new  parson  and  his  watchman,  owing  to  the 
former  declaring  it  to  be  a  scandal  that  the  latter 
should  hold  such  office  in  a  Christian  place  of  wor- 
ship, when  he  was  not  even  an  inquirer !  Certainly 
he  was  not.  He  neither  inquired  of  others  nor 
tolerated  inquiry  from  them.  He  slept  on  the 
plinth  of  nights,  chimed  the  gong  by  day,  and  kept 
the  rest  of  his  life  to  himself.     That  was  all. 

Not  one  of  the  congregation  filing  into  the  church 


6  SHUB  RAT 

that  morning  knew  more  of  him  than  this.  So  he 
stood  indifferently  waiting  for  the  first  note  of  the 
harmonium  to  tell  him  his  task  was  over;  listening 
for  it  to  pulsate  out  into  the  sunshine,  and,  blend- 
ing with  the  last  note  of  the  gong,  go  forth  upon 
the  endless  waves  of  ether.  Go  forth  hand-in-hand, 
plaintiff  and  defendant ;  a  quaint  couple  seeking  ex- 
tinction, or  perhaps  the  Great  White  Throne  against 
which  the  ripple  of  life  beats  in  vain. 

The  note  came  this  morning  as  on  other  mornings, 
and  Deen  Mahomed  turned,  indifferent  as  ever,  to 
his  house.  It  was  a  mud  and  thatch  hovel  clinging 
to  one  side  of  a  miniature  tomb,  half  in  ruins,  which 
some  follower  of  the  saint  had  built  within  the 
shadow  of  his  master's  grave.  It  stood  just  opposite 
the  flight  of  steps  up  which  a  late  worshipper  or  two 
was  hurrying,  glad,  even  at  that  early  hour,  to  es- 
cape from  the  glare  of  sunlight.  Yet  on  the  warm 
dust  before  the  hovel  a  child  of  four  or  five  sat  con- 
tentedly making  a  garden,  while  the  coachman  of  a 
smart  barouche  and  pair  drawn  up  close  by  looked 
down  with  interest  on  the  process.  'Twas  God 
Almighty,  says  Bacon,  who  first  planted  a  garden  ; 
but  ever  since  the  task  has  had  a  strange  charm  for 
man,  and  even  Deen  Mahomed  paused  with  a  smile 
for  the  little  watered  plots  and  pretended  paths. 

"  Thou  hast  encroached  on  thy  neighbour's  land 
to-day,  Rahmut,"  he  said,  "  and  gone  into  the  road- 


SHUB  RAT  / 

way.     Lo !  the  Sirhar  will  make  tliee  pay  revenue, 
little  robber." 

''Trust  tliem  for  that,"  put  in  the  coachman 
quickly;  then  he  chuckled.  "But  the  boy  grows; 
yea !  he  grows  to  take  Ms  father's  place. ^^ 

The  old  man  frowned,  yet  laid  his  hand  gently  on 
the  child's  head,  as  he  said  evasively :  "  Have  a  care, 
Rahmut,  whilst  I  am  gone,  and  water  thy  rose,  or 
'twill  die  in  this  heat." 

He  pointed  to  a  drooping  white  rosebud  which  the 
little  boy  had  stuck  in  his  centre  bed. 

"  Ay,"  replied  the  coachman,  "  'tis  hot  indeed  for 
the  time  of  year." 

"  As  hot  a  SliuhWdt  as  I  remember.  God  send  the 
night  be  cool  and  bring  peace." 

"  God  send  it  may,"  echoed  the  coachman  piously, 
his  evil-looking  face  showing  the  worse  for  his 
unction.  "  God  send  all  get  their  deserts  on  this  the 
great  Night  of  Record." 

He  made  the  remark  without  a  quiver,  oblivious, 
apparently,  of  a  long  series  of  petty  thefts  against 
his  master's  grain,  and  many  another  peccadillo  of 
the  past  year.  But  then,  though  every  faithful 
Mahomedan  believes  that  on  SJmhWdt  God  comes  to 
earth  with  all  the  saints  in  glory,  there,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  Dead,  to  write  his  Record  for  the  coming 
year  upon  the  foreheads  of  the  Living,  things  had  a 
knack  of  going  on  after  this  judgment  much  as  they 


8  shub'rat 

did  before  ;  especially  in  regard  to  such  trivial 
offences  as  the  theft  of  grain  from  a  horse. 

"God  send  they  may,"  re-echoed  the  old  man, 
suddenly,  fiercely.  The  words  seemed  to  cut  like  a 
knife;  yet  once  more  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the 
child's  head  almost  in  caress. 

"Have  a  care,  child,  for  thy  self  and  thy  rose. 
Thou  didst  not  pick  it,  sure,  from  the  sahib's  garden?" 
he  added  hastily. 

Rahmut  threw  up  a  handful  of  dry  dust  and  spread 
his  little  skinny  arms  in  gay  denial. 

"  Lo  !  nana  !  what  a  thought !  I  begged  it  of  the 
padre's  haba.  He  comes  ever  to  the  assemblage  with 
flowers,  and  the  white  mem,  his  mother,  bade  him 
give  it  to  me  and  that  too  —  she  brought  it  in  her 
bag  of  books." 

He  pointed  with  pride  to  some  strips  of  torn  white 
paper  stuck  in  the  sand  as  walls  to  the  garden. 
Then  his  tone  changed  to  tears.  "Oh,  nana!  nana! 
thou  hast  spoilt  it !  —  thou  hast  spoilt  it !  "  For  the 
old  man  in  sudden  fury  had  swept  the  remains  of 
the  offending  tract  from  their  foundations,  crushed 
them  to  a  ball,  and  flung  it  across  the  sunshiny 
roadway  to  the  plinth,  where  it  skimmed  along 
the  smooth  surface  to  roll  finally  to  the  very  door 
of  the  church. 

"No  tears,  child  —  no  tears,  I  say,"  came  in  a 
fierce  order.     "  If  thou  wouldst  not  have  me  beat 


shub'eat  9 

thee,  no  tears.  Thou  shalt  not  even  play  with  such 
things,  thou  shalt  not  touch  them.  I,  the  dust 
from  the  feet  of  the  saints,  say  it." 

So,  leaving  the  child  whimpering,  he  turned  to 
the  hovel,  muttering  to  himself.  Rujjub,  the  coach- 
man, nodded  to  the  next  on  the  rank. 

"  The  elephant  escaped  through  the  door  and 
his  tail  stuck  in  the  keyhole,"  he  said,  with  a  sneer. 
"  Meean  fakeer-ji  will  not  have  his  grandson  touch 
the  Ungeel  (Evangel),  and  chimes  the  church-gong 
himself.  But,  in  truth,  he  loves  the  old  tomb  — 
God  smite  those  who  defile  it  —  as  he  loves  the  boy. 
God  smite  those  who  sent  the  boy's  father  over  the 
Black  Water  to  fight  the  infidel  in  China.  Lo  !  even 
Jehad  (holy  war)  is  accursed  with  such  leaders." 

"  Bah !  Rujjub,"  retorted  his  fellow  cheerfully. 
"  'Tis  so  sometimes  without  fault.  '  He  climbed 
the  camel  to  get  out  of  the  way,  and  still  the  dog 
bit  him,'  say  the  wise.  The  Meean  is  half-crazed, 
all  know  that.  And  as  for  thee  I  Did  thy  master 
pay  as  fair  as  mine  we  should  have  less  zeal  from 
some  folk,  should  we  not,  brothers?  A  fist  full  of 
rupees  brings  peace,  since  there  is  no  clapping  with 
one  palm!" 

A  chuckle  ran  round  the  squatting  grooms  at 
this  home-thrust  at  Rujjub  the  grumbler  —  Rujjub 
the  agitator.  The  sweet  high  voices  of  English 
women    singing   a   missionary   hymn    came    floating 


10  shub'kat 

out  through  the  open  doors.  A  hovering  kite,  far 
in  the  blue,  swooped  suddenly,  startling  the  green 
and  gold  parrots  —  inlaid  like  a  mosaic  pattern  on 
the  white  dome  —  to  screaming  flight  for  shelter 
towards  the  sirus  trees.  Little  Rahmut,  forgetting 
his  tears,  built  fresh  walls  of  sand  to  his  garden 
and  watered  the  fading  rosebud  anew. 

Then  a  sort  of  murmurous  silence,  born  of  the 
measured  cadence  of  one  voice  from  within  and 
the  lazy,  listless  gossiping  without,  settled  down 
over  the  glare  and  the  shade.  Only  from  the  hut 
came  no  sound  at  all.  No  sound  even  from  the 
little  tomb  where  the  old  watchman  knelt,  his 
hands  on  his  knees  in  the  attitude  of  prayer,  his 
keen  eyes  staring  straight  into  the  soft  darkness  — 
for  the  only  entrance  was  so  small  that  the  crouch- 
ing figure  blocked  out  the  day.  But  darkness  or 
light  were  alike  to  Deen  Mahomed,  lost  as  he  was  to 
the  present  in  a  dull  memory  and  hope.  Perhaps, 
when,  years  before,  he  had  first  begun  to  hold  his 
service  in  defiance  of  that  other  worship,  he  may 
have  put  up  some  definite  petition.  Now  there 
was  none.  Only  the  cry  so  seldom  heard  by 
human  ears,  yet  whose  echoes  so  often  resound 
like  thunder  through  the  world  — 

How  long,  O  lord  !  how  long? 
So   he  knelt,    paralysed   by  the  very  perplexity  of 
his    own    prayer,   until   a    louder    burst    from    the 


shub'eat  11 

harmonium  and  a  sudden  hubbub  among  the  car- 
riages warned  him  that  the  service  was  over.  He 
rose  indifferently,  and  came  out  into  the  sunlight. 
It  lay  now  like  a  yellow  glaze  over  the  white 
stucco  of  St.  John's-in-the-Wilderness,  over  the 
gaily  dressed  congregation  hurrying  to  escape  from 
it  in  their  cool  homes,  over  Rujjub  whipping  his 
horses  viciously,  obedient  to  a  sharp  order  from 
the  Englishman  who  had  just  handed  a  delicate 
woman  into  the  carriage,  over  Rahmut's  garden 
with  its  white  rosebud.     And  then ! 

The  whole  thing  was  past  in  a  moment.  A  plunge 
—  a  swerve !  a  little  naked  imp  making  a  dive  before 
those  prancing  feet  with  an  eager,  childish  cry ;  then 
a  shriek  from  the  pale-faced  lady  standing  up  in  the 
barouche,  a  small  figure,  crushed  and  bleeding,  in  an 
old  man's  arms,  and  a  shout  seeming  to  fill  the  air. 

"Rahmut!  Ah,  mercy  of  the  Most  High!  Jus- 
tice !     Justice  I  " 

"Don't  look,  my  dear,"  said  an  English  voice; 
"please  remember  that  you  —  you  had  better  drive 
home.  It  was  the  child's  own  fault.  Doctor,  hadn't 
we  better  drive  home  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes.  Drive  home,  dear  lady !  "  said  another 
English  voice  in  hurried  approach  to  the  scene. 
"You  are  not  fit.  Now  then,  good  people,  stand 
back,  please.  Carmichael,  make  those  niggers  stand 
back.     I  must  see  the  boy." 


12  shub'rat 

It  was  easy  enough  to  ensure  compliance  so  far  as 
the  pale  faces,  made  paler  by  shocked  sympathy^ 
went ;  easier  still  to  enforce  it  from  the  darker  ones 
accustomed  to  obey  orders  given  in  that  foreign 
accent.  But  how  about  the  old  man  standing  like  a 
stag  at  bay,  clutching  the  child  to  his  breast,  and 
backing  towards  his  hut   with  a  loud,  fierce   cry  ? 

"  Touch  him  not !  Touch  him  not  !  Touch  him 
not!" 

"  We  are  only  driving  him  crazy,"  said  the  Doctor 
aside,  "  and  I  doubt  if  it  is  much  good.  I  saw  the 
wheel  pass  right  over  the  chest.     Let  him  be " 

"  But  it  seems  so  cruel,  so  unchristian,"  protested 
the  Parson. 

The  Doctor  smiled  oddly. 

"  That  doesn't  alter  the  fact.  You're  no  good 
here  ;  no  more  am  I.  Here,  you  chuprassie  !  Run 
like  the  devil  to  the  dispensary,  and  tell  Faiz  Khan 
he's  wanted.  If  he  is  out,  one  of  the  Mahomedan 
dressers  —  a  Mahomedan,  mind  you  —  and  he  is  to 
report  to  me.  Come  along.  Parson.  The  kindest 
thing  we  can  do  is  to  go  away.  It's  humiliating,  but 
true." 

Apparently  it  was  so,  for  a  sort  of  passive  resigna- 
tion came  to  the  straining  arms  as  the  dark  faces 
crowded  round  once  more  with  plain,  unhesitating, 
unvarnished  comments. 

"  Lo !   he  is  dead  for  sure.     Well,  it  is  the  Lord's 


shub'eat  13 

will,  and  he  hath  found  freedom.  See  you,  he 
wanted  his  flower,  the  foolish  one." 

"  'Twas  the  horses  did  it,"  said  another.  "  They 
are  evil-begotten  beasts.     Rujjub  hath  said  so  often." 

*' Ai !  hurrihdt!  All  things  are  ill-begotten  to  one 
ill-begot,  and  Rujjub's  beasts  know  he  stints  their 
stomachs-full,"  put  in  a  third.  "  When  I  drove 
them  in  Tytler  sahib's  stable  they  were  true  born  (^.e. 
gentle)  as  the  saJiih  was  himself.  Then  he  took 
pension  and  went  home  to  Wildi/et,  and  I  have  a 
new  master  who  only  keeps  ?^  phitto7i  (phaeton).  It 
is  undignified ;  but,  there,  'tis  fate,  nought  else." 

But  Deen  Mahomed,  sitting  with  the  dead  child  in 
his  arms,  was  not  thinking  of  Rujjub  or  his  horses, 
of  phittons  or  barouches,  not  even  of  chariots  of  fire 
—  in  a  way  not  even  of  Rahmut  himself  —  but  sim- 
ply of  a  tract  and  a  child's  tears  —  those  last  tears 
which  were  to  be  a  last  memory  for  ever  and  ever. 
Yet  even  this  thought  brought  no  definite  emotion, 
only  a  dull  wonder  why  such  things  should  be.  A 
wonder  so  vague,  so  dull  that  when  Faiz  Deen  ar- 
rived to  give  the  verdict  of  death,  the  old  man, 
yielding  readily  to  the  inevitable,  echoed  the  truism 
that  it  was  God's  will. 

What  else,  indeed,  could  it  be  to  the  fierce  old 
fanatic  with  his  creed  of  kismet  f 

That  same  evening  he  lingered  awhile  in  the  big 
bazaar  on  his  way  homewards  from  the  sandy  stretch 


14  shub'rIt 

of  desert  land  beyond  the  city  walls,  where  he  had 
left  a  new  anthill  of  a  grave  among  the  cluster  be- 
longing to  his  people ;  lingered  not  for  pleasure  but 
for  business,  since  the  events  of  the  day  had  made 
it  necessary  that  he  should  spend  yet  a  few  more 
annas  from  the  five  rupees  he  gained  by  wearing  a 
sword,  a  badge,  and  chiming  the  church-gong.  For 
it  was  Shub'i'dt;  the  night  —  the  one  night  of  all 
the  long  year  —  when  the  souls  of  the  dead  are  per- 
mitted to  visit  the  ancestral  home.  Therefore  little 
Rahmut,  so  lately  numbered  amongst  the  cloud  of 
witnesses,  must  not  be  neglected ;  he  must  find  his 
portion  like  the  others  —  a  Benjamin's  portion  of 
good  things  such  as  children  love. 

It  was  already  dark,  but  even  there  in  the  bazaar 
the  little  lamps  of  the  dead  shone  from  many  a 
house,  giving  an  unwonted  radiance  to  the  big  brass 
platters  of  the  sweetstuff  shop  where  the  old  man 
paused  to  haggle  over  full  weight  and  measure ; 
since  even  in  feasting  the  dead,  the  living  must 
look  after  themselves.  A  strange  sight  this.  Tlie 
noisy  bazaar,  more  full  of  stir  than  usual,  since 
many  a  thrifty  soul  had  put  off  marketing  till  the 
last.  Overhead,  the  myriad-hued  stars  which,  in 
these  foggy  climes,  come  back  to  memory  as  an  in- 
tegral part  of  the  Indian  night,  and,  beneath  them, 
the  little  twinkling  lamps  set  out  in  rows.  Thou- 
sands of  them  —  so  much  was  certain  from  the  pale 


shub'rat  15 

suffused  light  showing  like  a  dim  aurora  above  the 
piled  shadow  of  the  city.  On  every  side  the  same 
soft  radiance,  save  towards  St.  John's-in-the-Wilder- 
ness  rising  dark  beyond  the  fringe  of  palm  trees. 
This  Feast  of  All  Souls  was  not  for  it,  and  to  the 
crass  ignorance  of  those  who  lived  in  the  garden- 
circled  houses  behind  it  the  twinkling  lights  set 
for  the  dead  were  but  a  sign  of  some  new 
wickedness  in  Sodom  and  Gomorrah,  or,  at  best, 
of  some  heathen  rite  over  which  to  shake  the 
head   regretfully. 

So  in  front  of  the  cavernous  shop,  visible  by  the 
glow,  the  old  watchman  fumbled  beneath  his  badge 
with  reluctant  hand,  for  a  few  pence,  listening  the 
while  to  Rujjub's  account  of  the  morning's  tragedy 
given  in  the  balcony  above  where  the  latter  was 
lounging  away  his  leisure  among  heavy  perfumes 
and  tinkling  jewels.  One  of  the  hearers  looked 
down  over  the  wooden  railing,  and  nodded  cheer- 
fully at  the  chief  mourner. 

''  It  is  God's  will,  father ;  no  one  was  to  blame." 
''To  blame,"  echoed  Rujjub,  with  a  thick  laugh, 
for  he  was  in  the  first  loquacity  of  semi-intoxication 
and  still  full  of  resentment.  "  The  saJiihs  say  I  was 
to  blame.  It  is  their  way.  But  they  will  learn 
better.  It  is  our  blame  if  we  do  this  and  that. 
My  brother's  blame  that  he  would  -not  fight  over 
the    seas    and    get    killed    like     Rahmut's    father. 


16  shub'rIt 

'Tis  our  blame  for  everything  except  for  our  rupees 
and  our  women  —  the  sahibs  can  stomach  them." 

Some  one  laughed,  a  gay  laugh  chiming  to  tlie 
tinkle  of  jewels. 

"  Wdh !  thou  mayst  laugh  now,  Nargeeza ! "  con- 
tinued the  man's  voice  savagely;  "thou  knowest 
not  what  virtue  means " 

" '  Ari^  brother,  thou  hast  a  hole  in  thy  tail,  said 
the  sieve  to  the  needle,' "  quoted  the  other  voice 
amid  a  louder  titter  and  tinkle.  Rujjub  swore 
under  his  breath. 

"  So  be  it,  sister !  but  a  day  of  reckoning  will 
come,  and  thou  be  damned  for  thy  dalliance  with 
the  infidel.  Yea,  it  will  come;  it  will  surely 
come." 

The  words  echoed  through  Deen  Mahomed's 
heart  and  brain  as,  leaving  the  shrill  squabble 
with  its  running  accompaniment  of  titters  and 
tinkles  and  broad  masculine  guffaws  behind  him, 
he  made  his  way  back  to  his  empty  hovel. 

"  Yea,  it  will  come ;  it  will  surely  come ! " 
What  else  was  possible  Avhen  God,  a  justly  of- 
fended God,  was  above  all?  We  in  the  West 
have  not  a  monopoly  in  the  Tower  of  Siloam ; 
that  belongs  to  every  religion,  to  none  more  right- 
fully than  to  the  Faith  of  Islam,  which  leaves  all 
thinofs  in  the  hand  of  Providence. 

The   belief   brought  a  certain    fierce   patience   to 


shub'kat  17 

the  old  man  as  he  finished  his  preparations  for 
the  ghostly  guests  who,  on  that  night  alone,  could 
partake  of  the  hospitality  of  the  living.  The 
lamps,  mere  wicks  and  oil  in  little  shells  of  baked 
clay,  Avere  ready  luted  to  their  places  by  mud, 
outlining  the  interior  of  the  tomb  where  Deen 
iNlahomed  performed  all  the  rites  of  his  religion; 
outlining  it  so  strangely,  that  when  they  were  lit, 
the  old  man,  kneeling  before  the  white  cloth  spread 
upon  the  floor,  looked  as  if  prisoned  in  a  cage  of 
light.  There  was  no  darkness  then,  only  that  soft 
radiance  reflected  from  the  newly  whitewashed 
walls  upon  that  fair  white  sheet  on  which,  with 
calm  ceremony,  he  laid  the  little  earthen  platters  of 
food  one  by  one,  designating  their  owners  by  name. 

"This  to  my  grandson,  Rahmut,  who  has  found 
freedom." 

That  was  the  last  dedication,  and  the  old  voice 
trembled  a  little,  ever  so  little,  as  it  went  on  into 
the  formula  of  faith  in  one  God,  speaking  through 
the  mouths  of  his  Prophets.  Not  one  prophet  to- 
night but  many,  for  were  they  not  all  on  earth  — 
Moses  and  Elias,  Jesus  and  Mahomed  —  taking 
part  in  the  Great  Assize  where  those  dead  ances- 
tors would  plead  for  the  living  who  had  inherited 
their  sins,  their  failures? 

Before  such  a  tribunal  as  that  there  must  be 
justice  —  justice  for  all  things  just  and  unjust. 


18  shub'rat 

So,  half-kneeling,  half-sitting,  the  old  Mahome- 
dan  waited  for  the  finger  of  God  to  write  his  fate 
for  the  coming  year  upon  his  forehead  —  waited, 
resting  against  the  wall,  for  the  spirits  of  the 
dead  to  come  silently,  invisibly,  to  the  feast  pre- 
pared for  them.  And  Rahmut  had  a  Benjamin's 
portion  to  console  him  for  those  tears  —  those  last 
tears ! 

II 

The  church-gong  was  chiming  again,  and  again 
it  was  ShuhWdt.  Not  for  the  first  time  since  Deen 
Mahomed  had  put  little  Rahmut's  platter  of  sweets 
among  the  Feast  of  the  Dead,  for  the  years  had 
passed  since  the  child  had  sat  in  the  sunlight 
planting  gardens.  How  many  the  old  man  did 
not  consider;  in  point  of  fact  it  did  not  matter 
to  his  patience.  In  the  end  God's  club  must  fall 
on  the  unjust;  so  much  was  sure  to  the  eye  of 
faith.  Something  more  also,  if  the  signs  of  the 
times  spoke  true.  When  the  bolt  fell  it  would 
not  be  from  the  blue ;  the  mutterings  of  the  storm 
were  loud  enough,  surely,  to  be  heard  even  by 
those  alien  ears.  And  yet  Deen  Mahomed,  fanatic 
and  church-chimer,  standing  on  that  hot  summer 
evening  beneath  the  siriis  blossoms  smiting  the 
voice  from  the  quavering  disc  of  metal,  knew  no 
more    than    this  —  that    the     time    was    at    hand. 


shub'rat  19 

Whether  it  was  always  so,  or  whether  the  great 
Revolt  was  always  pre-arranged,  can  scarcely  at 
this  distance  of  time  be  determined.  Certain  it  is 
that  many,  like  old  Deen  Mahomed,  were  simply 
waiting ;  waiting  for  the  sign  of  God  to  slay  and 
spare  not. 

Clang  ! 

The  mellow  note  went  out  into  the  darkening 
heat ;  for  the  sun  was  almost  at  its  setting.  St. 
John's-in-the-Wilderness  showed  all  the  whiter 
against  the  deepening  shadows  of  the  sky. 

Clang  ! 

Out  into  the  stillness,  the  silence,  as  it  had  gone 
all  these  restless,  waiting  years. 

Clang  ! 

Yet  again  !     How  long,  O  Lord,  how  long  ? 
eij  *  *  *  *  * 

God  and  his  Prophet !  what  was  that  ? 

A  clamour,  and  above  it  —  familiar  beyond  mis- 
take—  one  word,  '-'-Deen!  Been  I ''^  (''The  Faith! 
The  Faith!") 

Deen  ?  Yes,  Deen  Mahomed !  —  A  hot  breath 
of  wind  from  the  east  rustled  the  dry  pods  and 
stirred  the  perfumed  puff-blossoms  —  a  scorching 
wind  from  the  east  whirled  the  clamour  and  the 
cry  into  the  old  man's  ears  —  through  his  brain  — 
through  his  heart. 

''Been!  Been!  Been!'' 


20  shub'rat 

The  disc  of  metal,  unstruck,  hung  quivering ; 
slower  and  slower,  fainter  and  fainter,  till,  like  the 
breath  of  one  who  dies  in  his  sleep,  the  vibration 
ceased.  But  the  note  went  alone  into  eternity, 
seeking  judgment ;    for  the  harmonium  was  mute. 

"  Been  !  Been  !  Been  !  " 

The  cruellest  cry  that  men  have  made  for  them- 
selves ! 

****** 

It  had  been  long  dark  ere  the  old  man  returned ; 
to  what  he  scarcely  knew.  As  he  stumbled  from 
sheer  fatigue  on  the  steps,  and  sat  down  to  rest  a 
space,  he  remembered  nothing  save  that  the  call  had 
come  and  that  he  had  obeyed  it.  He  had  smitten 
more  than  metal,  and  had  smitten  remorselessly.  A 
terrible  figure  this ;  his  old  hands  trembling  with 
their  work ;  his  fierce  old  eyes  ablaze  ;  his  garments 
stained  and  bloody.  Beyond  the  white  pile  of  the 
tomb  the  red  flare  of  burning  roof  trees  told  their 
tale,  and  every  now  and  again  an  uproarious  out- 
burst of  horrid  menace,  and  still  more  horrid  laugh- 
ter, came  to  hint  that  the  w^ork  was  not  all  complete. 
Yet  overhead  the  stars  shone  peacefully  as  ever; 
and,  above  the  city,  the  pale  radiance  of  the  death- 
feasts  showed  serene. 

The  remembrance  of  the  Festival  and  its  duties 
came  to  the  old  man's  mind  in  a  great  pulse  of  satis- 
lied  revenge.     The  tomb  was  his  again  ;  nay,  not  his. 


shub'rat  21 

but  the  saints,  of  whose  feet  he  was  the  dust ;  those 
saints  who  would  visit  the  world  that  night. 

He  sat  for  an  instant  staring  over  the  way  towards 
his  own  hovel,  then  rose  slowly,  showing  in  every 
movement  the  fatigue  of  unusual  exertion.  Well, 
he  had  done  his  part ;  he  had  slain,  and  spared  not 
at  all.  The  others  might  linger  for  the  sake  of 
greed;   as  for  him,  his  work  was  done. 

With  a  fierce  sigh  of  relief  he  turned  and  limped 
towards  the  church.  It  was  darkness  itself  within 
the  deep  doorway;  but  the  lamps  were  there,  and 
he  had  flint  and  steel.  So  one  by  one  the  lights 
shone  out,  revealing  the  sacrilegious  accessories  of 
that  past  worsliip.  And  yet  it  was  not  light  enough 
for  SJmFrdt,  not  even  when  he  had  lit  the  candles 
on  the  altar.  Still,  that  was  soon  remedied.  A 
journey  or  two  backwards  and  forwards  to  his  own 
hovel,  and  a  ring  of  flickering  oil  cressets  encircled 
the  table  where  it  was  his  turn,  at  last,  to  spread 
the  feast  of  the  dead.  So  large  a  feast  that  there 
was  not  room  enough  for  all,  and  he  had  to  set 
a  square  of  lights  round  a  white  cloth  laid  upon 
the  floor. 

"This  to  my  grandson,  Rahmut,  on  whom  be 
peace  for  ever  and  ever." 

That,  once  more,  was  the  last  offering ;  and  as  the 
old  man's  voice  merged  into  the  sonorous  Arabic 
formula  of  faith  it  trembled  not  at  all,  but  echoed 


22  shub'rat 

up  into  the  dome  in  savage,  almost  insane  triumph 
and  satisfaction. 

This  was  Shuh'rdt  indeed  —  a  Night  of  Record. 
And  there  was  room  and  to  spare  beneath  those 
architraves,  which  displayed  the  Great  Name  again 
and  again  in  every  scrap  of  tracery,  for  all  the 
saints  in  heaven  to  stand  and  judge  between  him 
and  his  forefathers  for  the  sin  that  had  been  done, 
the  blood  that  had  been  spilt  —  those  forefathers 
who  had  ridden  through  the  land  with  that  cry  of 
''''Deen!  DeenT''  on  their  lips,  and  had  conquered. 
As  they,  the  descendants,  would  conquer  now  I 
Yea  I  let  them  judge ;  even  Huzrut  Isa  ^  himself 
and  the  blessed  Miriam  his  mother;  for  there  were 
times  when  even  motherhood  must  be  forgotten. 
His  trembling  old  hands,  strained  under  the  task 
which  will  not  bear  description,  rested  now  on  his 
bent  knees  ;  his  head  was  thrown  backward  against 
the  lectern  on  which  the  Bible  lay  open  at  the 
lesson  for  the  day ;  his  face,  stern  even  in  its  satis- 
faction, gazed  at  the  twinkling  death-lights,  among 
which  little  Rahmut's  platter  of  sweets  showed 
conspicuous.  Yea !  let  them  come  and  judge ;  let 
them  write  his  fate  upon  his  forehead. 

Fatigue,  content,  the  very  religious  exaltation 
raising  him  above  the  actual  reality  of  what  was, 
and  had  been,  all  conspired  to  bring  about  a  sort 
1  Jesus. 


shub'kIt  23 

of  trance,  a  paralysis,  not  of  action  deferred,  as  in 
the  past,  but  of  deeds  accomplished.  And  so,  after 
a  time,  with  his  head  still  against  the  lectern,  he 
slept  the  sleep  of  exhaustion.  Yet,  even  in  his 
dreams  the  old  familiar  war  cry  fell  more  than 
once,  like  a  sigh,  from  his  lips, 
''Been!  Been!'' 

A  horrible  scene,  look  at  it  how  you  will;  but, 
even  in  its  horror,  not  altogether  base. 

From  without  came  a  faint  recollection  of  the 
blood-red  glare  of  fire  in  the  sky,  a  faint  echo  of 
the  drunken  shouts  and  beast-like  cries  of  those 
who  had  taken  advantage  of  the  times  to  return  to 
their  old  evil  doings.  Within,  there  was  nothing 
save  the  pale  radiance  of  the  twinkling  lamps  set 
round  the  Death-Feast,  the  old  man  asleep  against 
the  lectern,  and  silence. 

Until,  with  a  whispering,  kissing  sound,  a  child's 
bare  feet  fell  upon  the  bare  stones  —  a  tiny  child, 
still  doubtful  of  its  balance,  with  golden  hair  shin- 
ing in  the  light.  A  scarlet  flush  of  sleep  showed 
on  its  cheeks,  a  stain  of  deeper  scarlet  showed  on 
the  little  white  night-gown  it  wore.  Perhaps  it 
had  slept  through  the  horrors  of  the  night,  perhaps 
slept  on,  even  when  snatched  up  by  mother  or 
nurse  in  the  last  wild  flight  for  safety  towards 
a  sanctuary.  Who  knows?  Who  will  ever  know 
half  the  story  of  the  great  Mutiny?     But  there  it 


24  shub'rIt 

was,  sleep  still  lingering  in  the  wide  blue  eyes 
attracted  by  the  flickering  lights.  On  and  on,  un- 
steadily, it  came,  past  the  old  man  dreaming  of 
Jehdd^  past  the  lights  themselves  —  happily  unhurt 
—  to  stretch  greedy  little  hands  on  Rahmut's 
sweeties.  So,  with  a  crow  of  delight,  playing, 
sucking,  playing,  in  high  havoc  upon  the  fair 
white  cloth. 

^  ^  yf:  yp  ^  ^ 

Was  it  the  passing  of  the  spirits  coming  to  judg- 
ment which  set  the  candle  flames  on  the  altar  a-sway- 
ing  towards  the  cressets  below  them,  or  was  it  only 
the  rising  breeze  of  midnight  ?  Was  it  the  Finger 
of  Fate,  or  only  the  fluttering  marker  hanging  from 
the  Bible  above  which  touched  the  old  man's  fore- 
head ? 

Who  knows  ?  Who  dares  to  hazard  "  Yea "  or 
"Nay"  before  such  a  scene  as  this?  Surely,  with 
that  blood-red  flare  in  the  sky,  those  blood-red  stains 
on  earth,  the  passion  and  the  pity,  the  strain  and 
stress  of  it  all  need  a  more  impartial  judgment  than 
the  living  can  give.  So  let  the  child  and  the  old 
man  remain  among  the  lights  flickering  and  flaring 
before  the  unseen  wind  heralding  a  new  day,  or  the 
unseen  Wisdom  beginning  a  new  Future. 

^  ¥f:  ^  ^  ^  ^ 

Deen  Mahomed  woke  suddenly,  the  beads  of  per- 
spiration on  his  brow,  and  looked  round  him  fear- 


shub'eat  25 

fully  as  men  do  when  roused,  by  God  knows  what, 
from  a  strange  dream.  Then,  to  his  bewilderment, 
came  a  child's  laugh. 

Saints  in  heaven  and  earth!  Was  that  Rahmut? 
Had  he  come  back  for  his  own  in  that  guise  ?  Did 
the  padre-sahihs  speak  true  when  they  said  the  angels 
had  golden  hair  and  pale  faces  ?  He  crouched  for- 
ward on  his  hands  like  a  wild  beast  about  to  spring, 
his  eyes  fixed  in  a  stupid  stare.  There,  within  the 
ring  of  holy  lights,  on  the  fair  white  cloth,  was  a 
child  with  outstretched  hands  full  of  Rahmut's 
sweets  and  a  little  gurgle  of  delight  in  the  cry  which 
echoed  up  into  the  dome. 

"  Nanna,  dekho  !  (see)  —  dehho^  nanna." 

It  was  calling  to  its  nurse,  not  to  the  old  man ; 
yet,  though  he  had  begun  to  grasp  the  truth,  his 
heart  thrilled  strangely  to  the  once  familiar  sound. 

Ndna  !  ^  And  it  had  chosen  Rahmut's  portion,  had 
claimed  the  child's  place  —  the  child's  own  place  ! 

What  was  that?  A  step  behind  him  —  a  half- 
drunken  laugh  —  a  dull  red  flash  of  a  sabre  which 
had  already  done  its  work  —  Rujjub,  with  a  savage 
yell  of  satisfaction,  steering  straight  as  his  legs  would 
carry  him  to  a  new  victim.  But  he  had  reckoned 
without  that  unseen  figure  crouching  in  the  shadow 
by  the  lectern ;  reckoned  without  the  confused  clash- 
ing and   clamour   of   emotion  vibrating   in   the  old 

1  Grandfather. 


26  shub'rat 

man's  bosom  beneath  the  stroke  of  a  strange  chance ; 
reckoned,  it  may  be,  without  the  Fate  written  upon 
the  high  narrow  forehead  which  held  its  beliefs  fast 
prisoners. 

There  was  no  time  for  aught  save  impulse.  The 
devilish  face,  full  of  the  lust  of  blood,  had  passed 
already.  Then  came  a  cry,  echoing  up  into  the 
dome : 

"  Been  !     Been  !     Allah-i-liukk  !  " 

The  old  watchman  stood,  still  with  that  stupid 
stare,  gazing  down  at  the  huddled  figure  on  its  face 
which  lay  before  him,  so  close  that  the  warm  blood 
gurgling  from  it  horridly  already  touched  his  bare 
feet. 

What  had  he  done?  Why  had  ho  done  it?  To 
save  the  child  who  had  claimed  the  child's  place?  — 
To  be  true  ?  —  Well,  it  was  done !  and  those  were 
voices  outside  —  men  coming  to  pillage  the  church, 
no  doubt  —  there  was  silver  in  the  chest,  he  knew  — 
that^  of  course,  had  been  Rujjub's  errand,  and  his 
comrades  would  not  be  far  behind  —  they  would  find 
the  dying  man,  and  then  ?  —  Yea !  the  die  was  cast, 
and,  after  all,  it  had  been  Rahmut's  platter !  With 
these  thoughts  clashing  and  echoing  through  heart 
and  soul  Deen  ]\Iahomed  sprang  forward,  seized  the 
child,  stifling  its  cries  with  his  hand,  and  disappeared 
into  the  darkness.  None  too  soon,  for  the  yell  of 
rage  greeting  the  discovery  of  the  murdered  comrade 


shub'rat  27 

reached  him  ere  he  liad  gained  the  shelter  of  the 
trees.  Whither  now?  Not  to  his  house,  for  they 
would  search  there ;  search  everywhere  for  those  sur- 
vivors whose  work  remained  as  witness  to  the  exist- 
ence of  some  foe.  Alone  he  could  have  faced  the 
pillagers,  secure  in  his  past ;  but  with  the  child  — 
the  child  struggling  so  madly  ?  And  the  last  time 
he  had  held  one  in  his  arms  it  had  lain  so  still. 
Oh,  Rahmut!  Rahmut!  mercy  of  the  Most  High! 
Rahm  u  t !  R ah m  u  t ! 

The  words  fell  from  his  lips  in  a  hoarse  whisper 
as  he  ran,  clinging  to  the  darkest  places,  conscious 
of  nothing  save  the  one  fierce  desire  to  get  away 
to  some  spot  where  the  child's  cries  would  not  be 
heard  —  where  he  would  have  time  to  think  —  some 
spot  where  the  work  had  been  done  already  —  where 
nothing  remained  for  lustful  hands ! 

The  thought  made  him  double  back  into  the  cool 
watered  gardens  about  the  little  group  of  houses 
beyond  the  church.  The  flames  were  almost  out 
now,  and  in  one  roof,  only  a  few  sparks  lingered 
on  the  remaining  rafters.  Here  would  be  peace ; 
besides,  even  if  the  cries  were  heard,  they  might  be 
set  down  to  some  wounded  thing  dreeing  its  deadly 
debt  of  suffering.  A  minute  afterwards  he  stood  in 
a  room,  unroofed  and  reeking  yet  with  the  smell  of 
fire,  but  scarcely  disturbed  otherwise  in  its  peaceful, 
orderly  arrangements  —  a  room  with  pictures  pasted 


28  shub'rat 

to  the  walls  and  faintly  visible  by  the  glare,  with 
toys  upon  the  floor,  and  a  swinging  cot  whence 
a  child  had  been  snatched.  This  child,  perhaps  — 
who  knows?  Anyhow  it  cuddled  down  from  Deen 
Mahomed's  arms  into  the  pillows  as  if  they  were 
familiar. 

"Nanna!  Nanna!"  it  sobbed  pitifully.  '^HiVao, 
hiVao^  neendJii  argia^'  (swing,  swing,  sleep  has  come). 

^'jSo  jao  mera  butcJicha^^  (sleep  my  child),  replied 
the  old  man  quietly,  as  his  blood-stained  hand  began 
its  task.  The  wonder  of  such  task  had  j^^-ssed 
utterly,  and  had  any  come  to  interrupt  it  he  would 
have  given  his  life  calmly  for  its  fulfilment.  Why, 
he  did  not  know.  It  was  Fate.  So  the  old  voice, 
gasping  still  for  breath,  settled  into  a  time-honoured 
lullaby,  which  has  soothed  the  cradle  of  most  bairns 
in  India,  no  matter  of  what  race  or  colour. 

"  Oh !  crow  !     Go  crow  ! 

Ripe  plums  are  so  many. 
Baby  wants  to  sleep,  you  know. 
They're  two  pounds  for  a  penny." 

So  over  and  over  in  a  low  croon,  mechanically 
he  chanted,  till  the  child,  losing  its  fear  in  the 
familiar  darkness,  fell  asleep.  And  then  ?  In  a  sort 
of  dull  way  the  question  had  been  in  Deen  Ma- 
homed's mind  from  the  beginning  without  an  an- 
swer, for  he  had  gone  so  far  along  the  road,  simply 


shub'rIt  29 

by  following  close  on  the  Finger  of  Fate ;  and  now 
there  was  no  possibility  of  turning  back.  For  woe 
or  weal  he  had  taken  the  child's  part,  he  had  ac- 
cepted the  responsibility  for  its  life,  even  to  the 
lenorth  of  death  in  others.  Not  that  he  cared  much 
for  the  consequences  of  the  swinging  blow  he  had 
dealt  to  Rujjub  — he  was  no  true  man. 

What  then?  There  was  no  chance  of  concealing 
the  child.  It  slept  now,  but  ere  long  it  would  waken 
again,  and  cry  for  "  Nanna,  Nanna."  That  must  be 
prevented  for  a  time  at  any  rate.  The  chubby  hands 
still  clasped  one  of  Rahmut's  sweeties,  and  the  old 
man  stooped  to  break  off  a  corner,  crumble  it  up  with 
something  he  took  from  an  inner  pocket,  and  then 
place  it  gently  within  the  child's  moist,  parted  lips, 
which  closed  upon  it  instinctively.  He  gave  a  sigh 
of  relief.  That  was  better;  that  would  settle  the 
cries  for  some  hours,  and  before  then  he  must  have 
made  over  the  child  to  other  hands.  Yes,  that  was 
it.  He  must  somehow  run  the  gauntlet  of  his  com- 
rades, and  reach  the  entrenched  position  which  the 
infidels  —  curse  them !  —  had  defended  against  odds 
such  as  no  man  had  dreamed  of  before.  It  was  seven 
miles  to  the  north,  that  cantonment  which  would 
have  been  destroyed  but  for  those  renegades  from 
the  Faith  who  had  stood  by  their  masters,  and  that 
handful  of  British  troops  which  had  refused  to  accept 
defeat.     Seven   miles   of  jungle   and   open  country 


30  shub'rat 

alive  with  armed  and  reckless  sepoys  and  sowars,  to 
whom  a  man  in  mufti  was  fair  game,  no  matter  what 
the  colour  of  his  race,  lay  between  him  and  that  goal, 
and  Deen  Mahomed's  grim  face  grew  grimmer  as  he 
raised  the  sleeping  child,  pillows  and  all,  wrapped 
them  in  a  quilt,  and  slung  the  bundle  on  his  back  — 
slung  it  carefully  so  as  to  give  air  to  the  child  and 
freedom  to  his  arms.  He  might  need  it  if  they  tried 
to  stop  him.  He  gave  a  questioning  glance  at  the 
sky  as  he  came  out  into  the  garden  where  the  scent 
of  the  orange-blossoms  drifted  with  the  lingering 
spirals  of  smoke.  Not  more  than  an  hour  or  two 
remained  before  the  dawn  would  be  upon  them.  He 
must  risk  detection,  then,  by  the  short  cut  through 
the  bazaar;  better  that  than  the  certainty  of  dis- 
covery later  on  in  the  daylight  by  those  ready  for 
renewed  assault  upon  the  entrenchment. 

^^Whokhimdar^''  challenged  the  sentry  ceremoni- 
ously set,  as  in  peaceful  times,  at  the  city  gate. 

'''•Allah  akhar  tva  Mahomed  rusool^''  replied  the  old 
man,  without  a  quiver.  That  was  true ;  he  was  for 
God  and  his  Prophet  when  all  was  said  and  done. 
But  this  was  little  Rahmut's  guest  —  this.  He 
passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead  in  a  dazed  sort  of 
way. 

"  Ari,  look  at  his  /oof,"  hiccoughed  one  of  a  group 
in  the  street;  "before  God  he  hath  more  than  his 
share  in  the  bundle.     Stop,  friend,  and  pay  toll." 


shub'rat  31 

"  What  my  sword  hath  won  my  sword  keeps,"  re- 
torted Deen  Mahomed  fiercely.  "  Better  for  thee  in 
Paradise,  Allah  Buksh,  if  thou  hadst  smitten  more 
and  drunk  less." 

"  Let  be  ;  let  be ! "  interrupted  another.  "'Tis  Deen 
Mahomed,  the  crazy  watchman.  I'll  go  bail,  he  hath 
no  more  than  he  deserves  for  this  day's  work.  And 
he  is  a  devil  with  that  sword  of  his  when  he  is  angry. 
Lo !  I  saw  him  at  the  corner,  mind  you,  where  the 
sahibs " 

But  Deen  Mahomed  had  passed  from  earshot. 
Passed  on  and  on,  through  dark  streets  and  light 
ones,  challenged  jestingly,  or  in  earnest ;  and  through 
it  all  a  growing  doggedness,  a  growing  determina- 
tion came  to  him  to  do  this  thing,  yet  still  remain,  as 
ever,  a  guardian  of  the  Faith.  This  for  Rahmut's 
sake,  the  other  for  the  sake  of  the  Tomb,  because  he 
was  the  dust  of  tlie  footsteps  of  the  saints  in  light. 

Out  in  the  open  now,  with  the  paling  light  of 
dawn  behind  him  and  a  drunken  Hindu  trooper 
riding  at  him  with  a  cry  of  ''  Mam  !  Ram  !  "  So  they 
dared  to  give  an  idolatrous  cry,  those  Hindu  dogs 
whose  aid  had  been  sought  to  throw  off  the  yoke  — 
who  would  soon  find  it  on  their  own  shoulders.  A 
step  back,  a  mighty  slash  as  the  horse  sped  by, 
maddened  by  bit  and  spur,  a  stumble,  a  crash,  and 
an  old  man,  with  a  strange  bundle  at  his  back,  was 
hacking   insanely   at   his   prostrate   foe.      No    more, 


32 


"  Rdrn^  Rdrri^''  for  him ;  that  last  cry  had  served  as 
the  death-farewell  of  his  race  and  creed. 

On  again,  with  a  fiercer  fire  in  the  eyes,  through 
the  great  tufts  of  tiger-grass  isolating  each  poor 
square  of  God's  earth  from  the  next,  and  making  it 
impossible  to  see  one's  way.  On  and  on  swiftly, 
forcing  a  path  through  the  swaying  stems,  whose 
silvery  tasselled  spikes  above  began  to  glitter  in  the 
level  beams  of  the  rising  sun. 

Then  suddenly,  without  a  word  of  warning,  came 
an  open  sandy  space,  a  brief  command. 

"  Halt ! " 

So  soon  !  It  was  nearer  by  a  mile  than  he  had 
expected,  and  there  was  no  chance  of  flight ;  not 
unless  you  made  that  burden  on  your  back  a  target 
for  pursuing  bullets.  A  fair  mark,  in  truth,  for  the 
half  dozen  or  more  of  rifles  ready  in  the  hands  of  the 
cursed  infidels. 

"  Who  goes  there  ? "  came  the  challenge  in  the 
cursed  foreign  tongue.  He  gave  one  sharp  glance 
towards  the  picket,  and  bitter  hatred  flared  up  within 
him ;  for  there  was  not  even  a  sahib  there  who 
might,  perchance,  understand.  Yet  there  was  no 
doubt,  no  doubt  at  all,  even  to  his  confused  turmoil 
of  feeling,  as  to  "  who  came  there."  A  foe !  a  foe 
to  the  death  when  this  was  over !  So  with  a  shout 
came  his  creed : 

'"'•Allah  akhar  wa  3Iahomed  rusool,'" 


S  hub' RAT  33 

Then  in  a  sort  of  gurgle,  as  he  fell  forward  on  his 
face,  it  finished  in  "  Been!   Been!   Been!  " 

****** 

"  Nicked  'im,  by  gum  !  Nicked  the  ole  beast  neat 
as  a  ninepin,"  said  one  of  the  picket. 

'^  Wonder  wot  he  come  on  for  like  that?"  said 
another. 

^'B y  ole  Ghazi,  that's   wot   he    was,"  put  in 

a  third.  "  They  gets  the  drink  aboard,  an'  don't  care 
for  nothing  but  religion  —  rummy  start,  ain't  it? 
Hello  !  wot's  that?  —  a  babby,  by  the  Lord !  " 

For  the  shock  of  Deen  Mahomed's  fall  had  awak- 
ened the  child. 

As  they  drew  it  from  the  blanket,  the  sun  tipped 
over  the  tiger-grass,  and  fell  on  its  golden  curls. 

ShuVrdt  was  over. 

"I  wonder  wot  'e  were  a-goin'  to  do  with  it?" 
remarked  the  inquirer,  turning  the  dead  body  over 
with  his  foot,  and  looking  thoughtfully  at  the  face, 
fierce  even  in  death.  But  no  one  hazarded  a  theory, 
and  the  Finger  of  Fate  had  left  no  mark  on  the  high, 
narrow  forehead.  But  the  Night  of  Record  was  over 
for  it  also. 


IN   THE    PERMANENT   WAY 

I  HEARD  this  story  in  a  rail-trolly  on  the  Pind- 
Dadur  line,  so  I  always  think  of  it  with  a  running 
accompaniment;  a  rhythmic  whir  of  wheels  in 
which,  despite  its  steadiness,  you  feel  the  propelling 
impulse  of  the  unseen  coolies  behind,  then  the  swift 
skimming  as  they  set  their  feet  on  the  trolly  for  the 
brief  rest  which  merges  at  the  first  hint  of  lessened 
speed  into  the  old  racing  measure.  Whir  and  slide, 
racing  and  resting !  —  while  the  wheels  spin  like 
bobbins  and  the  brick  rubble  in  the  permanent  way 
slips  under  your  feet  giddily,  until  jou  could  almost 
fancy  yourself  sitting  on  a  stationary  engine,  engaged 
in  winding  up  an  endless  red  ribbon.  A  ribbon 
edged,  as  if  with  tinsel,  by  steel  rails  stretching 
away  in  ever  narrowing  lines  to  the  level  horizon. 
Stretching  straight  as  a  die  across  a  sandy  desert, 
rippled  and  waved  by  wrinkled  sand  hills  into  the 
semblance  of  a  sandy  sea. 

And  that,  from  its  size,  must  be  a  seventh  wave. 
I  was  just  thinking  this  when  the  buzz  of  the  brake 
jarred  me  through  to  the  marrow  of  my  bones. 

34 


IN    THE   PERMANENT    WAY  35 

"  What's  up  ?  A  train  ?  "  I  asked  of  my  compan- 
ion who  was  giving  me  a  lift  across  his  section  of  the 
desert. 

"  No  !  "  he  replied  laconically.  "  Now,  then  ! 
hurry  up,  men." 

Nothing  in  the  wide  world  comes  to  pieces  in  the 
hand  like  a  trolly.  It  was  dismembered  and  off  the 
line  in  a  moment ;  only  however,  much  to  my  sur- 
prise, to  be  replaced  upon  the  rails  some  half  a  dozen 
yards  further  along  them.  I  was  opening  my  lips 
for  one  question  when  something  I  saw  at  my  feet 
among  the  brick  rubble  made  me  change  it  for 
another.  * 

"  Hullo  I  what  the  dickens  is  that?  " 

To  the  carnal  eye  it  was  two  small  squares  of 
smooth  stucco,  the  one  with  an  oval  black  stone  set 
in  it  perpendicularly,  the  other  with  a  round  purplish 
one — curiously  ringed  with  darker  circles — set  in 
it  horizontally.  On  the  stucco  of  one  were  a  few 
dried  tidsi  ^  leaves  and  grains  of  rice  ;  on  the  other 
suspicious-looking  splashes  of  dark  red. 

"What's  what?"  echoed  my  friend,  climbing  up 
to  his  seat  again. 

"  Why,  man,  that  thing  !  —  that  thing  in  the  per- 
manent way !  "  I  replied,  nettled  at  his  manner. 

He  gave  an  odd  little  laugh,  just  audible  above 
the  first  whir  of  the  wheels  as  we  started  again. 
1  Marjoram. 


36  IN   THE   PERMANENT    WAY 

"That's  about  it.  In  the  permanent  way  —  con- 
siderably." He  paused,  and  I  thought  he  was  going 
to  relapse  into  the  silence  for  which  he  was  famous  ; 
but  he  suddenly  seemed  to  change  his  mind. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said,  "  it's  a  fifteen  mile  run  to 
the  first  curve,  and  no  trains  due,  so  if  you  like  I'll 
tell  you  why  we  left  the  track." 

And  he  did. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

When  they  were  aligning  this  section  I  was  put  on 
to  it—  preliminary  survey  work  under  an  R.E.  man 
who  wore  boiled  shirts  in  the  wilderness,  and  was 
great  on  "  Departmental  Discipline."  He  is  in  Simla 
now,  of  course.  Well,  we  were  driving  a  straight 
line  through  the  whole  solar  system  and  planting  it 
out  with  little  red  flags,  when  one  afternoon,  just 
behind  that  big  wave  of  a  sand  hill,  we  came  upon 
something  in  the  way.  It  was  a  man.  For  further 
description  I  should  say  it  was  a  thin  man.  There 
is  nothing  more  to  be  said.  He  may  have  been  old, 
he  may  have  been  young,  he  may  have  been  tall,  he 
may  have  been  short,  he  may  have  been  halt  and 
maimed,  he  may  have  been  blind,  deaf,  or  dumb,  or 
any  or  all  of  these.  The  only  thing  I  know  for 
certain  is  that  he  was  thin.  The  halassies  ^  said  he 
was  some  kind  of  a  Hindu  saint,  and  they  fell  at  his 
feet  promptly.  I  shall  never  forget  the  R.E.'s  face 
1  Tent  pitchers,  ineu  employed  in  measuring  land. 


IN   THE    PERMANENT    WAY  37 

as  he  stood  trying  to  classify  the  creature  accord- 
ing to  Wilson's  Hindu  Sects^  or  his  indignation 
at  the  kalassies'  ignorant  worship  of  a  man  who, 
for  all  they  knew,  might  be  a  follower  of  Shiva, 
while  they  were  bound  to  Vishnu,  or  vice  versa.  He 
was  very  learned  over  the  Vaishnavas  and  the  Saivas; 
and  all  the  time  that  bronze  image  with  its  hands  on 
its  knees  squatted  in  the  sand  staring  into  space  per- 
fectly unmoved.  Perhaps  the  man  saw  us,  perhaps  he 
didn't.     I  don't  know ;  as  I  said  before,  he  was  thin. 

So  after  a  time  we  stuck  a  little  red  flag  in  the 
ground  close  to  the  small  of  his  back,  and  went  on 
our  w\ay  rejoicing  until  we  came  to  our  camp,  a  mile 
further  on.  It  doesn't  look  like  it,  but  there  is  a 
brackish  well  and  a  sort  of  a  village  away  there  to 
the  right,  and  of  course  we  always  took  advantage 
of  water  when  we  could. 

It  must  have  been  a  week  later,  just  as  we  came 
to  the  edge  of  the  sand  hills,  and  could  see  a  land- 
mark or  two,  that  I  noticed  the  R.E.  come  up  from 
his  prismatic  compass  looking  rather  pale.  Then  he 
fussed  over  to  me  at  the  plane  table. 

"  We're  out,"  he  said,  "  there  is  a  want  of  Depart- 
mental Discipline  in  this  party,  and  we  are  out." 
I  forget  how  many  fractions  he  said,  but  some  in- 
finitesimal curve  would  have  been  required  to  bring 
us  plumb  on  the  next  station,  and  as  that  would 
have  ruined  the   R.E.'s   professional  reputation  we 


38  IN    THE    PERMANENT    WAY 

harked  back  to  rectify  the  error.  We  found  the 
bronze  image  still  sitting  on  the  sand  with  its  hands 
on  its  knees ;  but  apparently  it  had  shifted  its  posi- 
tion some  three  feet  or  so  to  the  right,  for  the  flag 
was  fully  that  distance  to  the  left  of  it.  That  night 
the  R.E.  came  to  my  tent  with  his  hands  full  of 
maps  and  his  mind  of  suspicions. 

"  It  seems  incredible,"  he  said,  "  but  I  am  almost 
convinced  that  hyragi  or  jogi^  or  gosain  or  sungasi, 
whichever  he  may  be,  has  had  the  unparalleled 
effrontery  to  move  my  flag.  I  can't  be  sure,  but  if 
I  were,  I  would  have  him  arrested  on  the  spot." 

I  suggested  he  was  that  already ;  but  it  is  some- 
times difficult  to  make  an  R.E.  see  a  Cooper's  Hill 
joke,  especially  when  he  is  your  superior  officer.  So 
we  did  that  bit  over  again.  As  it  happened,  my 
chief  was  laid  up  with  sun  fever  when  we  came  to 
the  bronze  image,  and  I  had  charge  of  the  party- 
I  don't  know  why,  exactly,  but  it  seemed  to  me 
rough  on  the  thin  man  to  stick  a  red  flag  at  the  small 
of  his  back,  as  a  threat  that  we  meant  to  annex  the 
only  atom  of  things  earthly  to  which  he  still  clung ; 
time  enough  for  that  when  the  line  was  actually 
under  construction.  So  I  told  the  kalassies  to  let 
him  do  duty  as  a  survey  mark ;  for,  from  what  I  had 
heard,  I  knew  that  once  a  man  of  that  sort  fixes  on 
a  place  in  which  to  gain  immortality  by  penance, 
he  sticks  to  it  till  the  mortality,  at  any  rate,  comes 


IN   THE   PERMANENT   WAY  39 

to  an  end.  And  this  one,  I  found  out  from  the 
villagers,  had  been  there  for  ten  years.  Of  course 
they  said  he  never  ate,  or  drank,  or  moved,  but  that, 
equally  of  course,  was  absurd. 

A  year  after  this  I  came  along  again  in  charge  of 
a  construction  party,  with  an  overseer  called  Crad- 
dock,  a  big  yellow-headed  Saxon  who  couldn't  kee^) 
off  the  drink,  and  who  had  in  consequence  been 
going  down  steadily  in  one  department  or  another 
for  years.  As  good  a  fellow  as  ever  stepped  when 
he  was  sober.  Well,  we  came  right  on  the  thin  one 
again,  plump  in  the  very  middle  of  the  permanent 
way.  We  dug  round  him  and  levelled  up  to  him  for 
some  time,  and  then  one  day  Craddock  gave  a  nod  at 
me  and  walked  over  to  where  that  image  squatted 
staring  into  space.  I  can  see  the  two  now,  Craddock 
in  his  navvy's  dress,  his  blue  eyes  keen  yet  kind  in 
the  red  face  shaded  by  the  dirty  pith  hat,  and  the 
thin  man  without  a  rag  of  any  sort  to  hide  his  bronze 
anatomy. 

"  Look  here,  sonny,"  said  Craddock,  stooping  over 
the  other,  "you're  in  the  way  —  in  the  permanent 
way." 

Then  he  just  lifted  him  right  up,  gently,  as  if  he 
had  been  a  child,  and  set  him  down  about  four  feet 
to  the  left.  It  was  to  be  a  metre  gauge,  so  that  was 
enough  for  safety.  There  he  sat  after  we  had 
propped  him  up  again  with  his  hyraga  or  cleft  stick 


40  IN   THE   PERMANENT   WAY 

under  the  left  arm,  as  if  he  were  quite  satisfied  with 
the  change.  But  next  day  he  was  in  the  old  place. 
It  was  no  use  arguing  with  him.  The  only  thing  to 
be  done  was  to  move  him  out  of  the  way  when  we 
wanted  it.  Of  course  when  the  earthwork  was  fin- 
ished there  was  the  plate-laying  and  ballasting  and 
what  not  to  be  done,  so  it  came  to  be  part  of  the  big 
Saxon's  regular  business  to  say  in  his  Oxfordshire 
drawl : 

"  Sonny,  yo're  in  the  waiy  —  in  the  permanent 
waiy." 

Craddock,  it  must  be  mentioned,  was  in  a  pecul- 
iarly sober,  virtuous  mood,  owing,  no  doubt,  to  the 
desolation  of  the  desert;  in  which,  by  the  way,  I 
found  him  quite  a  godsend  as  a  companion,  for  when 
he  was  on  the  talk  the  quaintness  of  his  ideas  was 
infinitely  amusing,  and  his  knowledge  of  the  natives, 
picked  up  as  a  loafer  in  mau}^  a  bazaar  and  serai,  was 
surprisingly  wide,  if  appallingly  inaccurate. 

"  There  is  something,  savin'  yo'r  presence,  sir, 
blamed  wrong  in  the  whole  blamed  business,"  he 
said  to  me,  with  a  mild  remonstrance  in  his  blue 
eyes,  one  evening  after  he  had  removed  the  obstruc- 
tion to  progress.  "  That  pore  fellar,  sir,  'e's  a  medi- 
tatin'  on  the  word  Horn — Hommipiiddenhoyne  ^  it  is, 
sir,  I've  bin  told  —  an'  doin'  'is  little  level  to  make 
the  spiritooal  man  subdoo  'is  fleshly  hinstinckts. 
1  Om  mipudmi  houm.     The  Buddhist  invocation. 


IN   THE   PERMANENT   WAY  41 

And  I,  Nathaniel  James  Craddock,  so  called  in  Holy 
Baptism,  I  do  assure  you,  a-eatin'  and  a-drinkin' 
'earty,  catches  'im  right  up  like  a  babby,  and  sets  'im 
on  one  side,  as  if  I  was  born  to  it.  And  so  I  will  — 
an'  willin',  too  —  so  as  to  keep  'im  from  'arm's  way ; 
for  'eathin  or  Christian,  sir,  'e's  an  eggsample  to  the 
spiritooal  part  of  me  which,  savin'  your  presence,  sir, 
is  most  ways  drink." 

Poor  Craddock  !  He  went  on  the  spree  hopelessly 
the  day  after  we  returned  to  civilisation,  and  it  was 
with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  I  succeeded  in  get- 
ting him  a  trial  as  driver  to  the  material  train  which 
commenced  running  up  and  down  the  section.  The 
first  time  I  went  with  it  on  business  I  had  an  inspec- 
tion carriage  tacked  on  behind  the  truck  loads  of 
coolies  and  ballast,  so  that  I  could  not  make  out  why 
on  earth  we  let  loose  a  danger  whistle  and  slowed 
down  to  full  stop  in  the  very  middle  of  the  desert 
until  I  jumped  down  and  ran  forward.  Even  then  I 
was  only  in  time  to  see  Craddock  coming  back  to  his 
engine  with  a  redder  face  than  ever. 

"  It's  only  old  Meditations,  sir,"  he  said  apologeti- 
cally, as  I  climbed  in  beside  him.  "  It  don't  take  a 
minute ;  no  longer  nor  a  cow,  and  them's  in  the  reg'- 
lations.  You  see,  sir,  I  wouldn't  'ave  'arm  come  to 
the  pore  soul  afore  'is  spiritooal  nater  'ad  the  straight 
tip  hoam.  Neither  would  none  of  us,  sir,  coolie  nor 
driver,  sir,  on  the  section.     We  all  likes  old  Eommi- 


42  IN   THE   PERMANENT    WAY 

puddenhome,  'e  sticks  to  it  so  stiddy,  that's  where 
it  is." 

''  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  always  have  to  get 
out  and  lift  him  off  the  line  ?  "  I  asked,  wondering 
rather  at  the  patience  required  for  the  task. 

"That's  so,  sir,"  he  replied  slowly,  in  the  same 
apologetic  tones.  "It  don't  take  no  time  you  see, 
sir,  that's  where  it  is.  P'r'aps  you  may  'ave  thought, 
like  as  I  did  first  time,  that  'e  'd  save  'is  bacon  when 
the  engine  come  along.  Lordy !  the  cold  sweat 
broke  out  on  me  that  time.  I  brought  'er  up,  sir, 
with  the  buffers  at  the  back  of  'is  'ed  like  them  things 
the  photographers  jiminy  you  straight  with.  But  'e 
ain't  that  sort,  ain't  Meditations."  Here  Craddock 
asked  leave  to  light  his  pipe,  and  in  the  interval  I 
looked  ahead  along  the  narrowing  red  ribbon  with 
its  tinsel  edge,  thinking  how  odd  it  must  have  been 
to  see  it  barred  by  that  bronze  image. 

"  No  !  that  ain't  his  sort,"  continued  Craddock 
meditatively,  "  though  wot  'is  sort  may  be,  sir,  is 
not  my  part  to  say.  I've  ar'st,  and  ar'st,  and  ar'st 
them  pundits,  but  there  ain't  one  of  them  can  really 
tell,  sir,  'cos  he  ain't  got  any  marks  about  him.  You 
see,  sir,  it's  by  their  marks,  like  cattle,  as  you  tell 
'em.  Some  says  he  worships  bloody  Shivers'^ — 'im 
'oos  wife  you  know,  sir,  they  calls  Martha  Davy  ^  —  a 
Christian  sort  o'  name,  ain't  it,  sir,  for  a  'eathin  idol  ? 
1  Shiva.  ^  Mata  devi. 


IN   THE   PERMANENT    WAY  43 

—  and  some  says  'e  worships  Wlslinyou  Lueksmi  ^  an' 
that  lot,  an'  Holy  ^  too,  though,  savin'  your  presence, 
sir,  it  ain't  much  holiness  I  see  at  them  times,  but 
mostly  drink.  It  makes  me  feel  quite  'omesick,  I  do 
assure  you,  sir,  more  as  if  they  was  humans  like  me, 
likewise." 

"  And  which  belief  do  you  incline  to  ?  "  I  asked, 
for  the  sake  of  prolonging  the  conversation. 

He  drew  his  rough  hand  over  his  corn-coloured 
beard,  and  quite  a  grave  look  came  to  the  blue  eyes. 
"  I  inclines  to  Shiver^''  he  said  decisively,  "  and  I'll 
tell  you  why,  sir.  Shiver  s  bloody  ;  but  'e's  dead  on 
death.  They  calls  'im  the  Destroyer.  'E  don't  care 
a  damn  for  the  body  ;  'e's  all  for  the  spiritooal  nater, 
like  old  Meditations  there.  Now  Wishnyou  Lueksmi 
an'  that  lot  is  the  Preservers.  They  eats  an'  drinks 
'earty,  like  me.  So  it  stands  to  reason,  sir,  don't  it? 
that  'e's  a  Shiver^  and  I'm  a  Wishnyou  Lueksmi^ 
He  stood  up  under  pretence  of  giving  a  wipe  round 
a  valve  with  the  oily  rag  he  held,  and  looked  out  to 
the  horizon  where  the  sun  was  setting,  like  a  huge 
red  signal  right  on  the  narrowing  line.  "  So,"  he 
went  on  after  a  pause,  "  that's  why  I  wouldn't  'ave 
'arm  come  to  old  Meditations.  'E's  a  Shivei\  I'm  a 
Wishnyou  Lueksmi.     That's  what  Jam." 

His  meaning  was  quite  clear,  and  I  am  not  ashamed 
to  say  that  it  touched  me. 

1  Vishnu  Lukshmi.  ^  ffoU,  the  Indian  Saturnalia. 


44  IN   THE   PERMANENT   WAY 

"  Look  here,"  I  said,  "  take  care  you  don't  run  over 
that  old  chap  some  day  when  you  are  drunk,  that's  all." 

He  bent  over  another  valve,  burnishing  it.  "  I 
hope  to  God  I  don't,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  That'd 
about  finish  me  altogether,  I  expect." 

We  returned  the  next  morning  before  daybreak ; 
but  I  went  on  the  engine,  being  determined  to  see 
how  that  bronze  image  looked  on  the  permanent 
way  when  you  were  steaming  up  to  it. 

"You  ketch  sight  of  'im  clear  this  side,"  said 
Craddock,  "  a  good  two  mile  or  more ;  ef  you  had 
a  telescope  ten  for  that  matter.  It  ain't  so  easy 
t'other  side  with  the  sun  a-shining  bang  inter  the 
eyes.  And  there  ain't  no  big  wave  as  a  signal  over 
there.  But  Lordy  !  there  ain't  no  fear  of  my  missin' 
old  Meditations." 

Certainly,  none  that  morning.  He  showed  clear, 
first  against  the  rosy  flush  of  dawn,  afterwards  like 
a  dark  stain  on  the  red  ribbon. 

"  I'll  run  up  close  to  him  to-day,  sir,"  said  Crad- 
dock, "  so  as  you  shall  see  wot  'e's  made  of." 

The  whistle  rang  shrill  over  the  desert  of  sand, 
which  lay  empty  of  all  save  that  streak  of  red  with 
the  dark  stain  upon  it;  but  the  stain  never  moved, 
never  stirred,  though  the  snorting  demon  from  the 
west  came  racing  up  to  it  full  speed. 

"  Have  a  care,  man  !  Have  a  care  !  "  I  shouted  ; 
but  my  words   were  almost  lost  in  the  jar  of  the 


IN   THE    PERMANENT    WAY  45 

brake  put  on  to  the  utmost.  Even  then  I  could 
only  crane  round  the  cab  with  my  eyes  fixed  on 
that  bronze  image  straight  ahead  of  us.  Could  we 
stop  in  time  —  would  it  move  ?  Yes  !  no  I  j^es  ! 
Slower  and  slower  —  how  many  turns  of  the  fly- 
wheel to  so  many  yards?  —  I  felt  as  if  I  were 
working  the  sum  frantically  in  my  head,  when, 
with  a  little  backward  shiver,  the  great  circle  of 
steel  stopped  dead,  and  Craddock's  voice  came  in 
cheerful  triumph. 

»  There  !  didn't  I  tell  you,  sir  ?  Ain't  'e  stiddy  ? 
Ain't  'e  a-subdooin'  of  mortality  beautiful  ? "  The 
next  instant  he  was  out,  and  as  he  stooped  to  his 
task  he  flung  me  back  a  look. 

"  Now,  sonny,  you'll  'ave  to  move.  You're  in  the 
way  —  the  permanent  way,  my  dear." 

That  was  the  last  I  saw  of  him  for  some  time, 
for  I  fell  sick  and  went  home.  When  I  returned 
to  work  I  found,  much  to  my  surprise,  that  Crad- 
dock  was  in  the  same  appointment ;  in  fact,  he  had 
been  promoted  to  drive  the  solitary  passenger  train 
which  now  ran  daily  across  the  desert.  He  had 
not  been  on  the  spree  once,  I  was  told;  indeed,  the 
R.E.,  who  was  of  the  Methodist  division  of  that 
gallant  regiment,  took  great  pride  in  a  reformation 
which,  he  informed  me,  was  largely  due  to  his 
religious  teaching  combined  with  Departmental 
Discipline. 


46  IN   THE    PERMANENT    WAY 

"  And  how  is  Meditations  ? "  I  asked,  when  the 
great  rough  hand  had  shaken  mine  veliemently. 

Craddock's  face  seemed  to  me  to  grow  redder  than 
ever.  "  'E's  very  well,  sir,  thanking  you  kindly. 
There's  a  native  driver  on  the  Goods  now.  'E's  a 
Shiver- Martha  Davy  lot,  so  I  pays  'im  live  rupee  a 
month  to  nip  out  sharp  with  the  stoker  an'  shovel 
'is  old  saint  to  one  side.  I'm  gettin'  good  pay  now, 
you  know,  sir." 

I  told  him  there  was  no  reason  to  apologise  for 
the  fact,  and  that  I  hoped  it  might  long  continue  ; 
whereat  he  gave  a  sheepish  kind  of  laugh,  and  said 
he  hoped  so  too. 

Christmas  came  and  went  uneventfully  without  an 
outbreak,  and  I  could  not  refrain  from  congratulat- 
ing Craddock  on  one  temptation  safely  over. 

He  smiled  broadly. 

"Lor'  bless  you,  sir,"  he  said,  "you  didn't  never 
think,  did  you,  that  Nathaniel  James  Craddock, 
which  his  name  was  given  to  'im  in  Holy  Baptism, 
I  do  assure  you,  was  going  to  knuckle  down  that 
way  to  old  Hommipuddenhome  ?  'Twouldn't  be  fair 
on  Christmas  noways,  sir,  and  though  I  don't  set 
the  store  'e  does  on  'is  spiritooal  nater,  I  was  born 
and  bred  in  a  Christyan  country,  I  do  assure  you." 

I  congratulated  him  warmly  on  his  sentiments, 
and  hoped  again  that  the}^  would  last;  to  which 
he  replied  as  before  that  he  hoped  so  too. 


IN   THE   PERMANENT    WAY  47 

And  then  Holi  time  came  round,  and,  as  luck 
would  have  it,  the  place  was  full  of  riff-raff  low 
whites  going  on  to  look  for  work  in  a  further  sec- 
tion. I  had  to  drive  through  the  bazaar  on  my  way 
to  the  railway  station  and  it  beat  anything  I  had 
ever  seen  in  various  vice.  East  and  West  were 
outbidding  each  other  in  iniquity,  and  to  make 
matters  worse  an  electrical  dust-storm  was  blow- 
ing hard.  You  never  saw  such  a  scene  ;  it  was 
pandemonium,  background  and  all.  I  thought  I 
caught  a  glimpse  of  a  corn-coloured  beard  and  a 
pair  of  blue  eyes  in  a  wooden  balcony  among  tink- 
ling mtdras  and  jasmine  chaplets,  but  I  wasn't  sure. 
However,  as  I  was  stepping  into  the  inspection 
carriage  which,  as  usual,  was  the  last  in  the  train, 
I  saw  Craddock  crossing  the  platform  to  his  engine. 
His  white  coat  was  all  splashed  with  the  red  dye 
they  had  been  throwing  at  each  other,  Holi  fashion, 
in  the  bazaar ;  his  walk,  to  my  eyes,  had  a  lilt  in 
it,  and  finally,  the  neck  of  a  black  bottle  showed 
from  one  pocket. 

Obedient  to  one  of  those  sudden  impulses  which 
come,  heaven  knows  why,  I  took  my  foot  off  the 
step  and  followed  him  to  the  engine. 

"Comin'  aboard,  sir,"  he  said  quite  collectedly. 
"  You'd  be  better  be'ind  to-night,  for  it's  blowin' 
grit  fit  to  make  me  a  walkin'  sandpaper  inside  and 
out."     And  before  I  could  stop  him  the  black  bottle 


48  IN   THE    PERMANENT   WAY 

was  at  his  mouth.  This  decided  me.  Perhaps  my 
face  showed  my  thoughts,  for  as  I  climbed  into  the 
cab  he  gave  an  uneasy  laugh.  *'  Don't  be  afraid, 
sir :  it's  black  as  pitch,  but  I  knows  where  old 
Meditation  comes  by  instinck,  I  do  assure  you. 
One  hour  an'  seventeen  minutes  from  the  distance 
signal  with  pressure  as  it  oughter  be.  Hillo  ! 
there's  the  whistle  and  the  baboo  a-waving.  Off 
we  goes  ! " 

As  we  flashed  past  a  red  light  I  looked  at  my 
watch. 

"  Don't  you  be  afraid,  sir,"  he  said,  again  looking 
at  his.  "  It's  ten  to  ten  now,  and  in  one  hour  an' 
seventeen  minutes  on  goes  the  brake.  That's  the 
ticket  for  Shivers  and  Martha  Davy ;  though  I  am 
a  Wishnyou  Lucksmi,^''  He  paused  a  moment,  and 
as  he  stood  put  his  hand  on  a  stanchion  to  steady 
himself. 

"  Very  much  of  a  Wishnyou  Lucksiyii^''  he  went  on 
with  a  shake  of  the  head.  "I've  'ad  a  drop  too 
much  and  I  know  it;  but  it  ain't  fair  on  a  fellar 
like  me,  'aving  so  many  names  to  them,  when 
they're  all  the  same  —  a  eatin'  an'  drinkin'  lot  like 
me.  There's  Christen  ^  —  you'd  'ave  thought  he'd 
'ave  been  a  decent  chap  by  'is  name,  but  'e  went 
on  orful  with  them  Gopis  —  that's  Hindu  for  milk- 
maids, sir.  And  Harry  ^  —  well,  he  wasn't  no  bet- 
1  Kristna.  ^  Hari. 


IN  THE   PERMANENT   WAY  49 

ter  than  some  other  Harrys  I've  heard  on.  And 
Canyer,!  I  expect  he  could  just  about.  To  say 
nothin'  of  G-opi-nauglity  ;  ^  and  naughty  he  were,  as 
no  doubt  you've  heard  tell,  sir.  There's  too  many 
on  them  for  a  pore  fellar  who  don't  set  store  by  'is 
spiritooal  nater ;  especially  when  they  mixes  them- 
selves up  with  Angcore^  whisky,  an'  ginger  ale." 

His  blue  eyes  had  a  far-away  look  in  them,  and 
his  words  were  fast  losing  independence,  but  I 
understood  what  he  meant  perfectly.  In  that  brief 
glimpse  of  the  big  bazaar  I  had  seen  the  rows  of 
Western  bottles  standing  cheek  by  jowl  with  the 
bowls  of  dolee  dye,  the  sour  curds  and  sweetmeats 
of  Holi-iidiQ. 

"You  had  better  sit  down,  Craddock,"  I  said 
severely,  for  I  saw  that  the  fresh  air  was  having 
its  usual  effect.  "  Perhaps  if  you  sleep  a  bit  you'll 
be  more  fit  for  work.  I'll  look  out  and  wake  you 
when  you're  wanted." 

He  gave  a  silly  laugh,  let  go  the  stanchion,  and 
drew  out  his  watch. 

"  Don't  you  be  afraid,  sir !  One  hour  and  seven- 
teen minutes  from  the  distance  signal.  I'll  keep 
'im  out  o'  'arm's  way,  an'  willing  to  the  end  of 
the  chapter." 

1  Kaniya. 

2  Gopi-nath.  These  are  all  names  of  Vishnu  in  his  various 
Avatars. 

3  Encore. 


50  IN   THE   PERMANENT   WAY 

He  gave  a  lurch  forward  to  the  seat,  stumbled, 
and  the  watch  dropped  from  his  hand.  For  a 
moment  I  thought  he  might  go  overboard,  and 
I  clutched  at  him  frantically;  but  with  another 
lurch  and  an  indistinct  admonition  to  me  not  to 
be  afraid,  he  sank  into  the  corner  of  the  bench 
and  was  asleep  in  a  second.  Then  I  stooped  to 
pick  up  the  watch,  and,  rather  to  my  surprise, 
found  it  uninjured  and  still  going. 

Craddock's  words,  "  ten  minutes  to  ten,"  recurred 
to  me.  Then  it  would  be  twenty-seven  minutes 
past  eleven  before  he  was  wanted.  I  sat  down  to 
wait,  bidding  the  native  stoker  keep  up  the  fire 
as  usual.  The  wind  was  simply  shrieking  round 
us,  and  the  sand  drifted  thick  on  Craddock's  still, 
upturned  face.  More  than  once  I  wiped  it  off, 
feeling  he  might  suffocate.  It  was  the  noisiest,  and 
at  the  same  time  the  most  silent,  journey  I  ever 
undertook.  Pandemonium,  with  seventy  times  seven 
of  its  devils  let  loose  outside  the  cab;  inside  Crad- 
dock  asleep,  or  dead  —  he  might  have  been  the 
latter  from  his  stillness.  It  became  oppressive  after 
a  time,  as  I  remembered  that  other  still  figure, 
miles  down  the  track,  which  was  so  strangely 
bound  to  this  one  beside  me.  The  minutes  seemed 
hours,  and  I  felt  a  distinct  relief  when  the  watch, 
which  I  had  held  in  my  hand  most  of  the  time, 
told    me    it   was    seventeen    minutes    past    eleven. 


IN   THE   PERMANENT   WAY  51 

Only  ten  minutes  before  the  brake  should  be  put 
on;  and  Craddock  would  require  all  that  time  to 
get  his  senses  about  him. 

I  might  as  well  have  tried  to  awaken  a  corpse, 
and  it  was  three  minutes  to  the  twenty-seven  when 
I  gave  up  the  idea  as  hopeless.  Not  that  it  mat- 
tered, since  I  could  drive  an  engine  as  well  as 
he ;  still  the  sense  of  responsibility  weighed  heavily 
upon  me.  My  hand  on  the  brake  valve  trembled 
visibly  as  I  stood  watching  the  minute  hand  of  the 
watch.  Thirty  seconds  before  the  time  I  put  the 
brake  on  hard,  determining  to  be  on  the  safe  side. 
And  then  when  I  had  taken  this  precaution  a  per- 
fectly unreasoning  anxiety  seized  on  me.  I  stepped 
on  to  the  footboard  and  craned  forward  into  the 
darkness  which,  even  without  the  wind  and  the 
driving  dust,  was  blinding.  The  lights  in  front 
shot  slantways,  showing  an  angle  of  red  ballast, 
barred  by  gleaming  steel ;  beyond  that  a  formless 
void  of  sand.  But  the  centre  of  the  permanent 
way,  where  that  figure  would  be  sitting,  was  dark 
as  death  itself.  What  a  fool  I  was,  when  the 
great  circle  of  the  fly-wheel  was  slackening,  slack- 
ening, every  second !  And  yet  the  fear  grew  lest 
I  should  have  been  too  late,  lest  I  should  have 
made  some  mistake.  To  appease  my  own  folly  I 
drew  out  my  watch  in  confirmation  of  the  time. 
Great   God !    a    difference    of    two    minutes !  —  two 


52  IN   THE   PERMANENT    WAY 

whole  minutes !  —  yet  the  watches  had  been  the 
same  at  the  distance  signal  ?  —  the  fall,  of  course ! 
the  fall ! ! 

I  seemed  unable  to  do  anything  but  watch  that 
slackening  wheel,  even  though  I  became  conscious 
of  a  hand  on  my  shoulder,  of  some  one  standing 
beside  me  on  the  footboard.  No !  not  standing, 
swaying,  lurching 

"Don't!"  I  cried.  "  Don't !  it's  madness  !  "  But 
that  some  one  was  out  in  the  darkness.  Then  I 
saw  a  big  white  figure  dash  across  the  angle  of 
light  with  outspread  arms. 

"  Now  then,  sonny !  yo're  in  the  way  —  the  per- 
manent way." 

****** 

The  inspector  paused,  and  I  seemed  to  come  back 
to  the  sliding  whir  of  the  trolly  wheels.  In  the 
distance  a  semaphore  was  dropping  its  red  arm  and 
a  pointsman,  like  a  speck  on  the  ribbon,  was  at 
work  shunting  us  into  a  siding. 

"Well?"  I  asked. 

"  There  isn't  anything  more.  When  a  whole  train 
goes  over  two  men  who  are  locked  in  each  other's 
arms  it  is  hard  —  hard  to  tell  —  well,  which  is 
Shivers  Martha  Davy^  and  which  is  Wishnyou 
Lucksmi.  It  was  right  out  in  the  desert  in  the 
hot  weather,  no  parsons  or  people  to  object;  so 
1  buried  them  there  in  the  permanent  way." 


IN   THE   PERMANENT   WAY  53 

"  And  those  are  tombstones,  I  suppose  ?  " 
He  laughed.  "  No ;  altars.  The  native  employes 
put  them  up  to  their  saint.  The  oval  black  up- 
right stone  is  Shiva,  the  Destroyer's  ling  am ;  those 
splashes  are  blood.  The  flat  one,  decorated  with 
flowers,  is  the  salagrama^'^  sacred  to  Vishnu  the 
Preserver.  You  see  nobody  really  knew  whether 
old  Meditations  was  a  Saiva  or  a  Vaishnava ;  so 
I  suggested  this  arrangement  as  the  men  were 
making  a  sectarian  quarrel  out  of  the  question." 
He  paused  again  and  added: 

"  You  see  it  does  for  both  of  them." 

The  jar  of  the  points  prevented  me  from  replying. 

1  A  fossil  ammonite. 


ON   THE   SECOND   STORY 

It  was  a  three-storied  house  in  reality,  though 
time  had  given  it  the  semblance  of  a  fourth  in  the 
mud  platform  which  led  up  to  its  only  entrance. 
For  the  passing  feet  of  generations  had  worn  down 
the  levels  of  the  alley  outside,  and  the  toiling 
hands  of  generations  had  added  to  the  level  of  the 
rooms  within,  until  those  who  wished  to  pass  from 
one  to  the  other  had  to  climb  the  connecting  steps 
ere  they  could  reach  the  door. 

The  door  itself  was  broad  as  it  was  high,  and 
had  a  strangely  deformed  look ;  since  nearly  half 
of  its  two  carven  stone  jambs  were,  of  necessity, 
hidden  behind  the  platform.  These  stone  jambs, 
square-hewn,  roughly-carven,  were  the  only  sign 
of  antiquity  visible  in  the  house  from  the  alley; 
the  rest  being  the  usual  straight-up-and-down  almost 
windowless  wall  built  of  small  purplish  bricks  set 
in  a  mortar  of  mud.  It  stood,  however,  a  little 
further  back  in  the  alley  than  its  neighbours,  so 
giving  room  for  the  mud  platform;  but  that  was 
its  only  distinction. 

54 


ON   THE   SECOND    STORY  55 

The  alley  in  its  turn  differed  in  no  way  from 
the  generality  of  such  alleys  in  the  walled  towns 
where  the  houses  —  like  trees  in  a  crowded  planta- 
tion—  shoot  up  shoulder  to  shoulder,  as  if  trying 
to  escape  skywards  from  the  yeai-ly  increasing  press- 
ure of  humanity.  It  was,  hriefly,  a  deep,  dark,  irreg- 
ular drain  of  a  phxce,  shadowful  utterly  save  for  the 
one  brief  half  hour  or  so  during  Avhich  the  sun 
showed  in  the  notched  ribbon  of  the  sky  wliich  was 
visible  between  the  uneven  turretings  of  the  roof. 

Yet  the  very  sunlessness  and  airlessness  had  its 
advantages.  In  hot  weather  it  brought  relief  from 
the  scorching  glare,  and  in  the  cold,  such  air  as 
there  was  remained  warm  even  beneath  a  frosty 
sky.  So  that  the  mud  platform,  with  its  possibili- 
ties of  unhustled  rest,  was  a  favourite  gossiping 
place  of  the  neighbourhood.  All  the  more  so  be- 
cause, between  it  and  the  next  house,  diving  down 
through  the  dehris  of  countless  generations  and 
green  with  the  slime  of  countless  ages,  lay  one  of 
those  wells  to  which  the  natives  cling  so  fondly 
in  defiance  of  modern  sanitation  and  w^ater-works. 
But  there  was  a  third  reason  why  the  platform 
was  so  much  frequented;  on  the  second  story  of 
the  house  to  which  it  belonged  stood  the  oldest 
Hindu  shrine  in  the  city.  How  it  came  to  be  there 
no  one  could  say  clearly.  The  Brahmins  who 
tended   it  from    the    lower    story   told    tales    of    a 


56  ON   THE   SECOND    STORY 

plinthed  temple  built  in  the  heroic  age  of  Prithi 
Raj ;  but  only  this  much  was  certain,  that  it  was 
very  old,  and  that  the  steep  stone  ladder  of  a 
stair  which  led  up  to  the  arched  alcoves  of  the 
ante-shrine  was  of  very  different  date  to  the  ordi- 
nary brick  one  which  led  thence  to  the  third 
story  ;  where,  among  other  lodgers,  Ramanund,  B.A., 
lived  with  his  widowed  mother. 

He  was  a  mathematical  master  in  a  mission 
school,  and  twice  a  day  on  his  way  to  and  from 
the  exact  sciences  he  had  to  pass  up  and  down 
the  brick  ladder  and  the  stone  stair.  And  some- 
times he  had  to  stand  aside  on  the  three-cornered 
landing  where  the  brick  and  stone  met,  in  order 
that  the  women  coming  to  worship  might  pass 
with  their  platters  of  curds,  their  trays  of  cressets, 
and  chaplets  of  flowers  into  the  dim  ante-shrine 
where  the  liglit  from  a  stone  lattice  glistened  faintly 
on  the  damp  oil-smeared  pavement.  But  that  being 
necessarily  when  he  was  on  his  way  downstairs, 
and  deep  in  preparation  for  the  day's  work,  he 
did  not  mind  a  minute  or  so  of  delay  for  further 
study;  and  he  would  go  on  with  his  elementary 
treatise  on  logarithms  until  the  tinkle  of  the  ank- 
lets merged  into  the  giggle  which  generally  fol- 
lowed, when  in  the  comparative  -  seclusion  of  the 
ante-shrine,  the  veils  could  be  lifted  for  a  peep 
at  the  handsome  young  man.     But  Ramanund,  al- 


ON   THE  SECOND   STORY  57 

belt  a  lineal  descendant  of  the  original  Brahmin 
priests  of  the  temple,  had  read  Herbert  Spencer 
and  John  Stuart  Mill ;  so  he  would  go  on  his  way 
careless  alike  of  the  unseen  women  and  the  unseen 
shrine  —  of  the  mysteries  of  sex  and  religion  as 
presented  in  his  natural  environment.  There  are 
dozens  of  young  men  in  India  now-a-days  in  this 
position  ;  who  stand  figuratively,  as  he  did  actually, 
giving  the  go-by  to  one-half  of  life  alternately, 
and  letting  the  cressets  and  the  chaplets  and  the 
unseen  women  pass  unchallenged  into  the  alcove, 
where  the  speckled  light  of  the  lattice  bejewelled 
their  gay  garments,  and  a  blue  cloud  of  incense 
floated  sideways  among  the  dim  arches. 

And  Ramanund  was  as  good  a  specimen  of  this 
new  India  as  could  be  found.  North  or  South. 
Not  of  robust  physique  —  that  was  scarcely  to  be 
expected  after  generations  of  in  and  in  breeding  — 
but  of  most  acute  intelligence,  and,  by  virtue  of 
inherited  spiritual  distinction,  singularly  free  from 
the  sensual,  passive  acquiescence  in  the  limitations 
of  life  which  brings  content  to  the  most  of  humanity. 
He  was,  by  birth,  as  it  were,  a  specialised  specula- 
tive machine  working  at  full  pressure  with  a  pure 
virtue  escapement.  As  President  of  a  Debating 
Club  affiliated  with  the  "Society  for  the  General 
Improvement  of  the  People  of  India,"  he  was 
perhaps  needlessly  lavish  of  vague  expressions  such 


58  ON    THE   SECOND    STORY 

as  the  individual  rights  of  man ;  but  then  he,  in 
common  with  his  kind,  have  only  lately  become 
acquainted  with  the  ideas  such  phrases  are  sup- 
posed to  express,  and  have  not  as  yet  learnt  their 
exact  use  —  that  being  an  art  which  history  tells 
needs  centuries  of  national  and  individual  struggle 
for  its  attainment. 

Be  tliat  as  it  may,  even  in  the  strict  atmosphere 
of  the  Mission  School,  Ramanund's  only  fault  was 
that  he  had  assimilated  its  morality  and  rejected  its 
dogma.  In  the  orthodox  Hindu  household  upstairs, 
over  which  his  widowed  mother  ruled  severely,  his 
only  crime  was  that  he  refused  to  replace  a  wife, 
deceased  of  the  measles  at  the  age  of  six,  for 
another  of  the  good  lady's  choosing.  For  that 
other  matter  of  slighting  the  shrine  downstairs  is 
too  common  now-a-days  in  India  to  excite  any  re- 
crimination ;  its  only  effect  being  to  make  the 
women  regard  the  rule  which  forbids  their  eating 
with  the  men  folks,  as  a  patent  of  purity,  instead 
of  a  sign  of  inferiority ;  since  it  is  a  safeguard 
against  contamination  from  those  who,  when  be- 
3^ond  the  watch  of  secluded  eyes,  may  have  defiled 
themselves  in  a  thousand  Western  ways. 

Regarding  the  wife,  however,  Ramanund  was 
firm,  despite  the  prayers  that  his  mother  offered 
before  the  Goddess  downstairs  for  his  deliverance 
from  obstinacy.     He  used  to  accompany  her   some- 


ON   THE    SECOND    STORY  59 

times  on  this  errand  so  far  as  the  three-cornered 
landing,  and  then  with  a  smile  proceed  on  his  way 
to  the  exact  sciences.  Even  the  clang  of  the  great 
bell  wliich  hung  in  front  of  the  idol  within  tip-toe 
touch  of  the  worshipper,  as  it  used  to  come  pealing 
after  him  down  the  stairs,  proclaiming  that  the 
goddess'  attention  had  been  called  to  a  new  peti- 
tioner, did  not  bring  a  comprehension  of  facts  to 
his  singularly  clear  brain.  Those  facts  being,  that, 
rightly  or  wrongly,  the  flamboyant  image  of  Kali 
cievi  1  —  which  his  ancestors  had  tended  faithfully  — 
was  being  besieged  by  as  fervent  a  mother-prayer  as 
had  been  laid  before  any  divinity  —  or  dev-m\iy  as 
the  word  really  stands. 

In  truth  Ramanund  had  no  special  desire  to  marry 
at  all ;  or  even  to  fall  in  love.  He  was  too  busy  with 
the  exact  sciences  to  experimentalise  on  the  sus- 
pension of  the  critical  faculty  in  man;  besides,  he 
had  definitely  made  up  his  mind  to  marry  a  widow 
when  he  did  marry.  For  he  was  as  great  on  the 
widow  question  as  he  was  on  all  others  which 
appealed  to  his  kindly  moral  nature.  He  and  his 
friends  of  the  same  stamp  —  pleaders,  clerks,  and 
such-like  living  in  the  alley  —  used  to  sit  on  the  mud 
steps  after  working  hours,  and  discuss  such  topics 
before  adjourning  to  the  Debating  Club;  but  they 
always  left  one  of  the  flights  of  steps  free.     This  was 

Goddess. 


60  ON   THE   SECOND    STORY 

for  the  worshippers  to  pass  upwards  to  the  shrine  as 
soon  as  the  blare  of  the  conches,  the  beatings  of 
drums,  and  the  ringing  of  bells  should  announce 
that  the  dread  Goddess  having  been  washed  and  put 
to  bed  like  a  good  little  girl,  her  bath  water  was 
available  to  those  who  wished  to  drink  it  as  a  charm 
against  the  powers  of  darkness. 

That  was  with  the  waning  light ;  but  as  it  was  a 
charm  also  against  the  dangers  of  day,  the  dawn  in 
its  turn  would  be  disturbed  by  clashings  and  bray- 
ings  to  tell  of  Kali  devi's  uprisal.  Then,  in  the 
growing  light  the  house-mothers,  fresh  from  their 
grindstones,  would  come  shuffling  through  the  alleys 
with  a  pinch  or  two  of  new-ground  flour,  and  the 
neighbouring  Brahmins  —  hurriedly  devotional  after 
the  manner  of  priesthoods  —  would  speed  up  the 
stair  (muttering  prayers  as  they  sped)  to  join  for 
half  a  minute  in  the  sevenfold  circling  of  the  sacred 
lamps ;  while,  divided  between  sleep  and  greed,  the 
fat  traders  on  their  way  to  their  shops  would  begin 
business  by  a  bid  for  divine  favour,  and  yawn  peti- 
tions as  they  waddled,  that  the  supply  of  holy  water 
would  hold  out  till  they  arrived  at  the  shrine. 

But  at  this  time  in  the  morning,  Ramanund  would 
be  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the  just  upstairs,  after  sitting 
up  past  midnight  over  his  pupils'  exercises ;  for  one 
of  the  first  effects  of  civilisation  is  to  make  men 
prefer  a  kerosene  lamp  to  the  sun. 


ON   THE   SECOND    STORY  61 

Now,  one  September  when  the  rains,  coming  late 
and  ceasing  early,  had  turned  the  pestilential  drain  in 
the  city  into  a  patent  germ  propagator,  the  worship- 
pers at  Kali  clevis  shrine  were  more  numerous  than 
ever.  Indeed,  one  or  two  half-hearted  free-thinker 
hangers-on  to  the  fringe  of  Progress  and  Debating 
Clubs  began  to  hedge  cautiously  by  allowing  their 
women  folk  to  make  offerings  in  their  names  ;  since 
when  cholera  is  choosing  its  victims  haphazard  up 
and  down  the  alleys,  it  is  as  well  to  ensure  your  life 
in  every  office  that  will  accept  you  as  a  client. 

Ramanund,  of  course,  and  his  immediate  friends 
were  above  such  mean  trucklings.  They  exerted 
themselves  to  keep  the  alley  clean,  they  actually 
subscribed  to  pay  an  extra  sweeper,  they  distributed 
cholera  pills  and  the  very  soundest  advice  to  their 
neighbours;  especially  to  those  who  persisted  in 
using  the  old  well.  Ramanund,  indeed,  went  so  far 
as  to  circulate  a  pamphlet,  imploring  those  who, 
from  mistaken  religious  scruples,  would  not  drink 
from  the  hydrants  to  filter  their  water ;  in  support 
of  which  thesis  he  quoted  learned  Sanskrit  texts. 

"  J«z  Kali  ma!'''^  said  the  populace  to  each  other, 
when  they  read  it.  "  Such  talk  is  pure  blasphemy. 
If  She  wishes  blood  shall  She  not  drink  it?  Our 
fathers  messed  not  with  filters.  Such  things  bring 
Her  wrath  on  the  righteous;  even  as  now  in  this 
sickness." 

1  Victory  to  Mother  Kali ! 


62  ON   THE    SECOND    STORY 

Yet  they  spoke  calmly,  acquiescing  in  the  inevi- 
table from  their  side  of  the  question,  just  as  Rama- 
nund  and  his  like  did  from  theirs ;  for  this  passivity 
is  characteristic  of  the  race  —  which  yet  needs  only 
a  casual  match  to  make  it  flare  into  fanaticism. 

So  time  passed  until  one  day,  the  moon  being  at 
the  full,  and  the  alley  lying  mysterious  utterly  by 
reason  of  the  white  shining  of  its  turreted  roofs 
set,  as  it  were,  upon  the  solid  darkness  of  the  narrow 
lane  below,  a  new  voice  broke  in  on  the  reading  of  a 
paper  regarding  the  "  Sanitation  of  the  Vedic  Ages," 
which  Ramanund  was  declaiming  to  some  chosen 
friends. 

"  Jai  Kali  maT^  said  this  voice  also,  but  the  tone 
was  different,  and  the  words  rang  fiercely.  "Is 
Her  arm  shortened  that  it  cannot  save?  Is  it 
straightened  that  it  cannot  slay?  Wait,  ye  fools, 
till  the  dark  moon  brings  Her  night  and  ye  shall 
see." 

It  came  from  a  man  with  an  evil  hemp-sodden 
face,  and  a  body  naked  save  for  a  saffron-coloured 
rag,  who,  smeared  from  head  to  foot  with  cowdung 
ashes,  was  squatting  on  the  threshold,  daubing  it 
with  cowdung  and  water;  for  the  evening  worship- 
pers had  passed,  and  he  was  at  work  betimes 
purifying  the  sacred  spot  against  the  morrow's 
festival. 

The  listeners  turned  with  a  start,  to  look  at  the 


ON   THE   SECOND   STORY  63 

strange  yet  familiar  figure,  and  Ramanand,  cut  short 
in  his  eloquence,  frowned ;  but  he  resumed  his  paper, 
which  was  in  English,  without  a  pause,  being  quick 
to  do  battle  in  words  after  the  manner  of  New  India. 

"  These  men,  base  pretenders  to  the  holiness  of 
the  sumiydsi^  are  the  curse  of  the  country !  Mean 
tricksters  and  rogues  wandering  like  locusts  through 
the  land  to  prey  on  the  timid  fears  of  our  modest 
countrywomen.  Men  who  outrage  the  common 
sense  in  a  thousand  methods;    who " 

The  man  behind  liim  laughed  shortly,  ''  Curse  on, 
master  yee.^"  he  said  —  "for  curses  they  are  by  the 
sound,  though  I  know  not  the  tongue  for  sure. 
Yea!  curse  if  thou  likest,  and  praise  the  new  wis- 
dom ;  yet  thou  —  Ramanund,  Brahmin,  son  of  those 
who  tend  Her — hast  not  forgotten  the  old.  Forget 
it!  How  can  a  man  forget  what  he  learnt  in  his 
mother's  womb,  what  he  hath  learnt  in  his  second 
birth?" 

Long  years  after  prayer  has  passed  from  a  man's 
life,  the  sound  of  the  "  Our  Father"  may  bring  him 
back  in  thought  to  his  mother's  knee.  So  it  was 
with  Ramanund,  as  in  the  silence  which  followed, 
he  watched  (by  the  flickering  light  of  the  cresset 
set  on  the  ground  between  them)  his  adversary's 
lips  moving  in  the  secret  verse  which  none  but  the 
twice-born  may  repeat.  It  brought  back  to  him, 
as  if  it   had  been  yesterday,  the  time  when,  half- 


64  ON  THE   SECOND   STORY 

frightened,  half-important,  he  had  heard  it  whispered 
in  his  ear  for  the  first  time.  When  for  the  first 
time  also  he  had  felt  the  encircling  thread  of  the 
twice-born  castes  on  his  soft  young  body.  That 
thread  which  girdled  him  from  the  common  herd, 
which  happed  and  wrapped  him  round  with  a 
righteousness  not  his  own,  but  imputed  to  him  by 
divine  law.  Despite  logarithms,  despite  pure  moral- 
ity, something  thrilled  in  him  half  in  exultation, 
half  in  fear.  It  was  unforgetable,  and  yet,  in  a  way, 
he  had  forgotten  !  —  forgotten  what  ?  The  question 
was  troublesome,  so  he  gave  it  the  go-by  quickly. 

"  I  have  not  forgotten  the  old  wisdom  jogi  y^e," 
he  said.  "  I  hold  more  of  it  than  thou,  with  all  thy 
trickery.  But  remember  this.  We  of  the  Sacred 
Land^  will  not  stand  down-country  cheating,  and 
if  thou  art  caught  at  it  here,  'tis  the  lock-up." 

"  If  I  am  caught,"  echoed  the  man  as  he  drew 
a  small  earthen  pot  closer  to  him  and  began  to  stir 
its  contents  with  his  hand,  every  now  and  again 
testing  their  consistency  by  letting  a  few  drops  fall 
from  his  lifted  fingers  back  into  the  pot.  They 
were  thick  and  red,  showing  in  the  dim  light  like 
blood.  "It  is  not  we,  servants  of  dread  Kali,  who 
are  caught,  'tis  ye  faithless  ones  who  have  wan- 
dered from  Her.     Ye  who  pretend  to  know " 

"  A  scoundrel  when  we  see  one,"  broke  in  the 
^  The  first  Aryan  settlements  were  in  the  Punjab. 


ON    THE   SECOND   STORY  65 

schoolmaster,  his  high  thin  tones  rising.  "And  I 
do  know  one  at  least.  What  is  more,  I  will  have 
thee  watched  by  the  police." 

"Don't,"  put  in  one  of  the  others  in  English. 
"What  use  to  rouse  anger  needlessly.  Such  men 
are  dangerous." 

"  Dangerous  !  "  echoed  Ramanund.  "  Their  day  is 
past " 

"  The  people  believe  in  them  still,"  persisted  an- 
other, looking  uneasily  at  the  jogi's  scowl,  which, 
in  truth,  was  not  pleasant. 

"  And  such  language  is,  in  my  poor  opinion,  de- 
scriptive of  that  calculated  to  cause  a  breach  of 
peace,"  remarked  a  rotund  little  pleader,  "  thus  con- 
trary to  mores  publico.     In  moderation  lies  safety." 

"  And  cowardice,"  retorted  Ramanund,  returning 
purposely  to  Hindustani  and  keeping  his  eager  face 
full  on  the  jogi.  "  It  is  because  the  people,  illiter- 
ate and  ignorant,  believe  in  them,  that  I  advocate 
resistance.  Let  us  purge  the  old,  pure  faith  of  our 
fathers  from  the  defilements  which  have  crept  in ! 
Let  us,  by  the  light  of  new  wisdom  revealing  the 
old,  sweep  from  our  land  the  nameless  horrors  which 
deface  it.  Let  us  teach  our  illiterate  brothers  and 
sisters  to  treat  these  priests  of  Kali  as  they  deserve, 
and  to  cease  worshipping  that  outrage  on  the  very 
name  of  womanhood  upstairs  —  that  devil  drunk 
with  blood,  unsexed,  obscene " 


6^  ON    THE   SECOND    STORY 

He  was  proceeding  after  his  wont,  stringing  ad- 
jectives on  a  single  thread  of  meaning,  when  a 
triumphant  yell  startled  him  into  a  pause. 

"  Jai  Kali  ma  !   Jai  Kali  ma  !  " 

It  seemed  to  fill  the  alley  with  harsh  echoes 
blending  into  a  guttural  cruel  laugh.  ''So  be  it, 
brother !  Let  it  be  Kali,  the  Eternal  Woman, 
against   thee,  Ramanund  the   Scholar!     I    tell    thee 

She  will  stretch  out  Her  left  hand  so ''  here  his 

own  left  hand,  reddened  with  the  pigment  he  had 
been  preparing  for  the  purpose,  printed  itself  upon 

one  lintel  of  the  door,  "  and  Her  right  hand  so " 

here  his  right  did  the  same  for  the  other  lintel, 
and  he  paused,  obviously  to  give  effect  to  the  situa- 
tion. Indeed  his  manner  throughout  had  been  in- 
tensely theatrical,  and  this  deft  blending  of  the 
ordinary  process  of  marking  the  threshold,  with  a 
mysterious  threat  suitable  to  the  occasion,  betrayed 
the  habitual  trafficker  in  superstitious  fear. 

"  And  then,  J6(ji  jee^''  sneered  Ramanund  imper- 
turbably. 

"  And  then,  master  jee  ?  "  cried  his  adversary,  his 
anger  growing  at  his  own  impotence  to  impress,  as 
he  clenched  his  reddened  hands  and  stooped  for- 
ward to  bring  his  scowl  closer  to  the  calm  con- 
tempt, "Why  then  She  will  draw  fools  to  Her 
bosom,  bloody  though  they  deem  it." 

"And  if  they  will  not  be  drawn?" 


ON    THE   SECOND    STORY  67 

The  words  scarcely  disturbed  the  stillness  of  the 
alley,  which  was  deserted  save  for  that  strange 
group,  outlined  by  the  flicker  of  the  cresset.  On  the 
one  side,  backed  b}^  the  cavernous  darkness  of  the 
low,  wide  door,  was  the  naked  savage-looking  figure, 
with  its  hands  dripping  still  in  heavy  red  drops, 
stretched  out  in  menace  over  the  lamp.  On  the 
other  was  Ramanund,  backed  by  his  friends,  decent, 
civilised,  in  their  western-cut  white  clothing. 

"  Damn  you  —  you  —  you  brute  !  " 

The  schoolmaster  seldom  swore ;  when  lie  did  he 
used  English  oaths.  Possibl}^  because  they  seemed 
more  alien  to  his  own  virtue.  On  this  occasion 
several  came  fluently  as  he  fumbled  for  his  pocket 
handkerchief ;  for  the  jogi  in  ansAver  to  his  taunt 
had  reached  out  one  of  his  red  hands  and  drawn 
three  curving  fingers  down  the  centre  of  Ramanund's 
immaculate  forehead.  The  emblem  of  his  discarded 
faith,  the  bloody  trident  of  Siva,  showed  there  dis- 
tinctly ere  the  modern  hemstitclied  handkerchief 
wiped  it  away  petulantly.  It  was  gone  in  a  second, 
yet  Ramanund  even  as  he  assured  liimself  of  the 
fact  by  persistent  rubbing  felt  that  it  had  somehow 
sunk  more  than  skin  deep.  The  knowledge  made 
him  swear  the  harder,  and  struggle  vehemently 
against  his  comrade's  restraining  hands. 

"  It  is  a  case  for  police  and  binding  over  to  keep 
peace,"  protested   the    pleader  soothingly.     ''  I   will 


68  ON   THE   SECOND    STORY 

conduct  same  even  on  appeals  to  highest  court  with- 
out further  charge." 

"  In  addition,  it  is  infra  dig  to  disciples  of  the  law 
and  order  thus  to  behave  as  the  illiterate,"  put  in 
another,  while  a  third,  with  less  theory  and  more 
practice,  remarked  that  to  use  violence  to  a  priest 
of  Kali  on  the  threshold  of  Her  temple  during 
Her  sacred  month  was  as  much  as  their  lives 
were  worth;  since  God  only  knew  how  many  a 
silent  believer  within  earshot  needed  but  one  cry  to 
come  to  the  rescue  of  Her  servant,  especially  now 
when  the  sickness  was  making  men  sensitive  to  Her 
honour. 

So,  in  the  end,  outraged  civilisation  contented 
itself  by  laying  a  formal  charge  of  assault  in  the 
neighbouring  police  station  against  a  certain  religious 
mendicant,  name  unknown,  supposed  to  have  come 
from  Benares,  who  in  the  public  thoroughfare  had 
infringed  the  liberty  of  one  of  Her  Imperial  Majesty's 
liege  subjects  by  imprinting  the  symbol  of  a  decadent 
faith  on  his  forehead.  And  thereinafter  it  repaired 
to  the  Debating  Club,  where  Ramanund  recovered 
his  self-respect  in  a  more  than  usually  per-fervid  out- 
burst of  eloquence.  So  fervid,  indeed,  that  one  of 
the  most  forward  lights  in  the  province,  who  hap- 
pened to  look  in,  swore  eternal  friendship  on  the 
spot.  The  result  being  that  the  two  young  men 
discussed    every   burning    question    under    the    sun, 


ON    THE    SECOND    STORY  69 

as,  with  arms  interclasped,  Ramanuiicl  saw  his  new 
acquaintance  home  to  his  lodgings. 

Thus  it  was  past  midnight  ere  he  returned  to  his 
own,  and  then  he  was  so  excited,  so  intoxicated,  as  it 
were,  by  his  own  strong  words,  that  he  strode  down 
the  narrow  alley  as  if  he  were  marching  to  victory. 
And  yet  the  alley  itself  was  peace  personified.  It 
was  dark  no  longer,  for  the  great  silver  shield  of  the 
moon  hung  on  the  notched  ribbon  of  pale  sky  be- 
tween the  roofs,  and  its  light — with  the  nameless 
message  of  peace  which  seems  inherent  in  it  —  lay 
thick  and  white  down  to  the  very  pavement.  There 
was  scarcely  a  shadow  anywhere  save  the  odd  fore- 
shortened image  of  himself  which  kept  pace  behind 
Ramanund's  swift  steps  like  a  demon  driving  him  to 
his  doom. 

The  low,  wide  door,  however,  showed  like  a 
cavern,  and  the  narrow  stone  stair  struck  chill 
after  the  heat  outside.  Perhaps  that  was  why  the 
young  man  shivered  as  he  groped  his  way  up- 
wards amid  the  lingering  scent  of  past  incense, 
the  perfume  of  fallen  flowers,  and  the  faint  odour 
suggestive  of  the  gay  garments  which  had  flut- 
tered past  not  so  long  before.  Or,  perhaps,  the 
twin  passions  of  Love  and  Worship,  which  even 
Logarithms  cannot  destroy,  were  roused  in  him  by 
the  memory  of  these  things.  Whatever  it  was, 
something  made  him  pause  to  hold  his  breath  and 


70  ON    THE    SECOND    STORY 

listen  on  that  three-cornered  landing  where  the 
brick  and  the  stone  met.  A  speckled  bar  of 
moonlight  glistened  on  the  damp  floor  of  the 
ante-shrine  and  showed  a  dim  arch  or  two  —  then 
darkness.  And  all  around  him  was  that  penetrat- 
ing odour  telling  of  things  unseen,  almost  un- 
known, and  yet  strangely  familiar  to  his  inherited 
body  and  soul. 

There  was  not  a  sound.  That  was  as  it  should 
be  when  gods  slept  like  men. 

When  gods  slept  .  .  .  ! 

There  was  a  sound  now  —  the  sound  of  his  own 
contemptuous  laugh  as  he  remembered  his  defiance 
of  such  divinities  —  the  sound  of  his  own  steps  as 
he  passed  suddenly,  impulsively,  into  the  ante- 
shrine,  feeling  it  was  time  for  such  as  he  to  wor- 
ship while    She    slept,  helpless   as    humanity  itself. 

It  was  almost  dark  in  the  low-arched  corridors 
with  their  massive  pillars  surrounding  the  central 
chamber  on  all  sides.  But  there,  in  the  Holy  of 
Holies,  two  smoking  swinging  lamps  threw  a  yel- 
low glare  on  the  carved  stone  canopy  wliich 
reached  up  into  the  shadows  of  the  vaulted  roof. 
And  by  their  light  the  hideous  figure  of  the  idol 
could  be  half-seen,  half-imagined,  through  the 
fretted  panels  of  the  iron  doors  fast-locked  on 
Her  sleep;  fretted  panels  giving  glimpses,  no 
more,    of    flamboyant   arms   crimson   as   blood,    and 


ON   THE   SECOND   STORY  71 

hung  with  faded  flowers.  Blood  and  flowers, 
blood  and  flowers,  blending  strangely  with  that 
lingering  perfume  of  Womanhood  and  Worship 
with  which  the  air  was  heavy. 

Hark !  what  was  that  ?  A  step  ?  Impossible, 
surely,  at  that  hour  of  the  night  when  even  gods 
sleep !  And  yet  lie  drew  back  hastily  into  the 
further  shadows,  forgetful  of  everything  save 
sheer  annoyance  at  the  chance  of  being  discovered 
in  Kali's  shrine.     He  of  all  men  in  the  city ! 

Yes !  it  was  a  step  in  the  ante-shrine.  A  light 
step ;  and  there  emerging  from  the  darkness  of 
the  corridors  was  a  figure.  A  woman's  figure  — 
or  was  it  a  child's  ?  —  draped  from  head  to  foot 
in  white.  Ramanund  felt  a  throb  of  philanthropic 
pity  thrill  through  heart  and  brain  even  in  his 
relief;  for  this  was  some  poor  widow,  no  doubt, 
come  on  the  sly  to  offer  her  ill-omened^  prayers, 
and  though  he  might  rely  on  her  rapt  devotion 
allowing  him  to  steal  round  the  corridors  unob- 
served, the  thought  of  the  reason  why  she  had 
come  alone  filled  him  with  compassion.  Partly 
because  he  was  in  truth  a  kindly  soul,  partly  be- 
cause he  was,  as  it  were,  pledged  to  such  com- 
passion. 

A  widow  certainly ;  and  yet  surely  little  more 
than  a  child !  So  slender,  so  small  was  she  that 
1  A  widow  brings  ill-luck  with  her. 


72  ON   THE   SECOND   STORY 

even  on  tiptoe  her  outstretched  hand  could  not 
reach  the  clapper  of  the  big  bell  which  hung 
above  her  head.  Once,  twice,  thrice,  she  tried; 
standing  full  in  the  flare  of  the  lamp,  her  veil 
falling  back  from  the  dark  head,  close-cropped 
like  a  boy's,  and  roughened  almost  into  curls. 
Something  in  the  sight  made  Ramanund  hold  his 
breath  again  as  he  watched  the  disappointment 
grow  to  the  small  passionate  face. 

''  She  will  not  listen  —  She  will  not  hear !  No  one 
ever  listens  —  no  one  ..." 

It  was  not  a  cry ;  it  was  only  a  girl's  whisper  with 
a  note  of  girlish  fear  rising  above  its  pain,  but  it 
echoed  like  a  reveille  to  something  which  had  till 
then  been  asleep  in  Ramanund.  Not  listen  !  Was  he 
not  there  in  the  dark  listening  ?  Was  he  not  ready 
to  help?  —  God!  how  young  and  slender  she  was 
down  there  on  her  knees  thrusting  the  chaplets  she 
had  brought  through  the  fretwork  fiercely  .  .  . 

''Mai  Kali!  Mai!  Listen!  Listen!"  The  clear 
sharp  voice  rang  passionately  now,  echoing  through 
the  arches.  "What  have  I  done.  Mother,  to  be 
accursed?  Why  didst  Thou  take  him  from  me  — 
my  beautiful  young  husband  —  for  they  tell  me  he 
was  young  and  beautiful.  And  now  they  say  that 
Thou  sendest  the  other  for  my  lover  —  thy  priest! 
But  I  will  not.  Mother,  if  they  kill  me  for  it.  Thou 
wouldst  not  give  thyself  to  such  as  he,  Kali,  ugly  as 


ON   THE   SECOND   STORY  73 

Thou  art  —  and  I  am  pretty.  Far  prettier  than  the 
other  girls  wlio  have  husbands.  Mai  Kali !  listen 
this  once  —  this  once  only !  Kill  me  now  when 
Thou  art  killing  so  many  and  give  me  a  husband  in 
the  next  life ;  or  let  me  go  —  let  me  be  free  —  free 
to  choose  my  own  way  —  my  own  lover.  Mother  ! 
Mother !  if  Thou  wouldst  only  wake !  —  if  Thou 
wouldst  only  listen  !  —  if  Thou  wouldst  only  look 
and  see  how  pretty  I  am ! " 

Her  voice  died  away  amid  that  mingled  perfume 
of  love  and  worship,  of  sex  and  religion,  which 
seemed  to  lie  heavy  on  the  breath,  making  it  come 
short.  .  .  . 

Truly  the  gods  might  sleep,  but  man  waked ! 
There,  in  the  shadow,  a  man  looked  and  listened 
till  pity  and  passion  set  his  brain  and  heart  on 
fire. 

The  girl  had  risen  to  her  feet  again  in  her  last 
hopeless  appeal,  and  now  stood  once  more  looking 
upwards  at  the  silent  bell,  her  hands,  empty  of  their 
chaplets,  clenched  in  angry  despair,  and  a  world  of 
baffled  life  and  youth  in  her  childish  face. 

"  She  will  not  listen  !  She  will  not  wake  !  "  The 
whisper,  with  its  note  of  fear  in  it,  ended  in  a  boom- 
ing clang  which  forced  a  vibrating  response  from  the 
dim  arches  as  Ramanund's  nervous  hand  smote  the 
big  bell  full  and  fair.  She  turned  with  a  low  cry, 
then  stood  silent  till  a  slow  smile  came  to  her  face. 


74  ON   THE   SECOND    STORY 

Mai  Kali  had  wakened  indeed  !     She  had  listened 
also,  and  the  lover  had  come.  .  .  . 


II 

The  moonlit  nights  which  had  so  often  shown  two 
ghost-like  figures  amid  the  shadows  of  Kali's  shrine 
had  given  place  to  dark  ones.  And  now,  save  for  a 
whisper,  there  was  no  sign  of  life  beneath  the  dim 
arches,  since,  as  a  rule,  those  two  —  Raman und  and 
the  woman  Fate  had  sent  him — shunned  the  smokj 
flare  of  the  lamps,  and  the  half-seen  watchfulness  of 
that  hideous  figure  within  the  closed  fretwork  doors. 
Yet  sometimes  little  Anunda  would  insist  on  their 
sitting  right  in  the  very  threshold  of  the  Mother 
who,  she  said,  would  be  angry  if  they  distrusted  Her. 
But  at  other  times  she  would  meet  her  lover,  finger 
to  lip,  and  lead  him  hastily  to  the  darkest  corner  lest 
he  should  wake  the  goddess  to  direful  anger  at  this 
desecration  of  Her  holy  place.  Then  again,  she 
would  laugh  recklessly,  hang  the  chaplets  she  had 
brought  with  her  round  his  neck,  cense  him  with 
sweet  matches,  and  tell  him,  truthfully,  that  he  was 
the  only  god  she  feared. 

Altogether,  as  he  sat  with  his  arm  round  her, 
Ramanund  used  often  to  wonder  helplessly  if  it 
were  not  all  a  dream.  If  so,  it  was  not  the  calm 
controlled  dream  he  had  cherished  as  the  love  story 


ON    THE    SECOND    STORY  75 

suitable  to  a  professor  of  mathematics.  The  heroine 
of  that  was  to  have  been  wise,  perhaps  a  little  sad, 
and  Anunda  was  —  well !  it  was  difficult  to  say 
Avhat  she  was,  save  absolutely  entrancing  in  her 
every  mood.  She  was  like  a  firefly  on  a  dark  night 
flashing  here  and  there  brilliantly,  lucidly ;  yet  giv- 
ing no  clue  to  her  own  self  except  this  —  that  she 
did  not  match  with  the  exact  sciences.  Nor,  for 
the  matter  of  that,  with  the  situation ;  for  there 
were  grave  dangers  in  these  nightly  assignations. 

In  addition,  their  surroundings  were  anything  but 
cheerful,  anything  but  suitable  to  dreams.  Cholera 
had  the  whole  city  in  its  grip  now,  and  as  those  two 
had  whispered  of  Love  and  Life  many  a  soul,  within 
earshot  of  a  man's  raised  voice,  had  passed  out  of 
both  into  the  grave.  But  Anunda  never  seemed  to 
think  of  these  things.  She  was  the  bravest  and  yet 
the  timidest  child  alive ;  at  least  so  Ramanund  used 
to  tell  her  fondly  when  she  laughed  at  discovery, 
and  yet  trembled  at  the  very  idea  of  marriage. 

Honestly,  she  would  have  been  quite  satisfied  to 
have  him  as  her  lover  only,  but  for  the  impossibility 
of  keeping  him  on  those  terms.  An  impossibility 
because  —  as  she  told  him  with  tears  —  she  was  only 
on  a  visit  to  the  Brahmins  downstairs  and  would 
have  to  return  homewards  when  the  daik  month  of 
Kali-worship  was  over.  And  here  followed  one  of 
those    tales  —  scarcely   credible    to   English    ears  — 


7(j  ON   THE   SECOND   STORY 

of  the  cold-blooded  profligacy  to  whicli  widows  have 
to  yield  as  the  only  means  of  making  their  lives 
bearable.  Whereat  Ramanund  set  his  teeth  and 
swore  he  wonld  have  revenge  some  da}^  Mean- 
while it  made  him  all  the  more  determined  to  save 
her,  and  at  the  same  time  realise  his  cherished 
dream  of  defying  his  world  by  marrying  a  widow. 
Yet  his  boldness  only  had  the  effect  of  making  little 
Anunda  more  timid  and  cautious. 

"  What  need  for  names,  my  lord,"  she  would  say 
evasivel}^  when  he  pressed  her  for  particulars  of  her 
past.  "  Is  it  not  enough  that  I  am  of  pure  Brahmin 
race  ?  Before  Kali,  my  lord  need  have  no  fears  for 
that,  and  I  have  found  favour  in  my  lord's  eyes. 
What,  then,  are  the  others  to  my  lord?  Let  the 
wicked  ones  go." 

"But  if  people  do  such  things  they  should  be 
punished  by  the  law,"  fumed  Ramanund,  who,  even 
with  her  arms  round  him,  and  a  chaplet  of  chumpak 
blossom  encircling  his  neck,  could  not  quite  forget 
that  he  was  a  schoolmaster.  "  You  forget  that  we 
live  in  a  new  age,  or  perhaps  you  do  not  know  it. 
That  is  one  of  the  things  I  must  teach  you,  sweet- 
heart, when  we  are  married." 

The  slender  bit  of  a  hand  which  lay  in  his  gave 
a  queer  little  clasp  of  denial,  and  the  close-cropped 
head  on  his  shoulder  stirred  in  a  shake  of  inciedulity. 

"AVe  cannot  marry.     I  am  a  widow.     It  would  be 


ON   THE   SECOND    STORY  77 

better  — SO "  and  the  "so"  was  made  donblj^  elo- 
quent by  the  quiver  of  content  with  which,  yiehling 
to  the  pressure  of  his  arm,  she  nestled  closer  to  him. 
Ramanund's  brain  whirled,  as  she  had  a  knack  of 
making  it  whirl,  but  he  stuck  to  his  point  manfully. 
"Silly  child!  Of  course  we  can  marry.  The  law 
does  not  forbid  it,  and  that  is  all  we  liave  to  think 
of.  It  is  legal,  and  no  one  has  a  right  to  interfere. 
Besides,  as  I  told  you,  it  is  quite  easy.  To-morrow, 
the  darkest  niglit  of  Kali's  month,  is  our  oppor- 
tunity. Every  one  will  be  wearied  out  by  excite- 
ment"—  here  his  face  hardened  and  his  voice  rose. 
"  Excitement !  I  tell  you  it  is  disgraceful  that  these 
sacrifices  should  be  permitted.  I  admit  they  are 
nothing  here  to  what  they  are  down  country,  but 
we  of  the  Sacred  Land  should  set  an  example. 
The  law  should  interfere  to  stop  such  demoralis- 
ing, brutalising  scenes.  If  we,  the  educated,  were 
only  allowed  a  voice  in  such  matters,  if  we  were 
not   gagged  and  blindfolded  from  engaging  in   the 

amelioration  of  our  native  land "  he  paused  and 

pulled  himself  up  by  bending  down  to  kiss  her  in 
Western  fashion,  whereat  she  hid  her  face  in  quick 
shame,  for  modesty  is  as  much  a  matter  of  custom 
as  anything  else.  "But  I  will  teach  you  all  this 
when  we  are  married.  To-morrow,  then,  in  the 
hour  before  dawn,  when  the  worshippers  will  be 
drunk  with  wine  and  blood,  you  will  meet  me   on 


78  ON    THE    SECOND    STORY 

the  landing — not  here,  child,  this  will  be  no  sight 
for  you   or  me   then.      Ah !    it  is  horrible   even    to 

think  of  it ;   the  blood,  the  needless,  reckless " 

Again  he  pulled  himself  up  and  went  on :  "I  shall 
have  a  hired  carriage  at  the  end  of  the  alley  in 
which  we  will  drive  to  the  railway  station ;  and 
then,  Anunda,  it  will  only  be  two  tickets  —  two 
railway  tickets." 

"  Two  railway  tickets,"  echoed  Anunda  in  muffled 
tones  from  his  shoulder ;  "  I  came  up  in  the  rail- 
way from "     She  paused,  then  added  quickly  : 

"  They  put  me  in  a  cage,  and  I  cried." 

"  You  will  not  be  put  in  a  cage  this  time,"  replied 
Ramanund  with  a  superior  smile ;  "  you  will  come 
with  me,  and  we  will  go  to  Benares." 

Her  face  came  up  to  his  this  time  anxiously. 
"  Benares  ?     Why  Benares  ?  " 

"  Because  good  and  evil  come  alike  from  Benares," 
he  ansAvered  exultantly.  "Mayhap  you  have  been 
there,  Anunda,  and  seen  the  evil,  the  superstition. 
But  it  is  in  Benares  also  that  the  true  faith  lives 
still.  My  friend  has  written  to  his  friends  there, 
and  they  will  receive  us  with  open  arms ;  virtuous 
w^omen  will  shelter  you  till  the  marriage  arrange- 
ments are  complete." 

She  shook  her  head  faintly.  "  We  cannot  be 
married  —  I  am  a  widow,"  she  repeated  obstinately; 
"but  I  will  go  with  you  all  the  same,"    Then  seeing 


I 


ON   THE   SECOND   STORY  79 

a  certain  reproach  in  his  face  she  frowned.  "Dost 
think  I  am  wicked,  my  lord?  I  am  not  wicked 
at  all ;  but  Mai  Kali  gave  me  a  lover,  not  a  hus- 
band." Here  the  frown  relaxed  into  a  brilliant 
smile.  "My  husband  is  dead,  and  I  do  not  care 
for  dead  men.     I  care  for  you,  my  lord,  my  god." 

Ramanund's  brain  whirled  again,  but  he  clung 
to  the  first  part  of  her  speech  as  a  safeguard. 

"You  are  foolish  to  say  we  cannot  be  married. 
If  you  read  the  newspapers  you  would  see  that 
Avidows — child- widows  such  as  you  are,  heart's-de- 
light  —  are  married,  regularly  married  by  priests 
of  our  religion.  Those  old  days  of  persecution  are 
over,  Anunda.  The  law  has  legalised  such  unions, 
and  no  one  dare  say  a  word." 

A  comical  look  came  to  her  brilliant  little  face. 
"And   my  lord's  mother  —  will   she  say  nothing?" 

The  question  pierced  even  Ramanund's  coat  of 
culture.  He  fully  intended  telling  his  revered 
parent  of  his  approaching  marriage,  and  the  thought 
of  doing  so,  even  in  the  general  way  which  he  pro- 
posed to  himself,  was  fraught  with  sheer  terror. 
What  then  would  it  be  when  he  had  to  present 
her  with  this  daughter-in-law  in  the  concrete?  He 
took  refuge  from  realities  by  giving  a  lecture  on 
the  individual  rights  of  man,  while  Anunda  played 
like  a  child  with  the  chumpak  garland  with  which 
she  had  adorned  him. 


80  ON    THE   SECOND    STOKY 

And  so  with  a  grey  glimmer  the  rapid  dawn  began 
to  dispute  possession  of  those  dim  arches  with  the 
smoky  flare  of  the  lamps,  making  those  two  rise 
reluctantly  and  steal  with  echoing  footsteps  past  the 
malignant  half-seen  figure  behind  the  closed  fretwork 
doors.  The  blood-red  glint  of  those  outstretched 
arms  with  their  suggestion  of  clasping  and  closing 
on  all  within  their  reach,  must  have  roused  a  remi- 
niscence of  that  past  defiance  in  the  young  school- 
master's brain  ;  for  he  paused  before  the  shrine,  his 
arms  still  round  Anunda,  to  say  triumphantly ; 

"Good-bye,  Kali  mail     Good-bye  for  ever." 

The  girl,  clinging  to  him  fearfully,  looked  round 
into  the  shadows  on  either  side.  "  Hush,  my  lord, 
wdio  knows  whether  She  really  sleeps ;  and  She  is  in 
dangerous  mood.  They  say  so."  Her  light  foot 
marked  her  meaning  by  a  tap  on  the  echomy  floor. 

"  What,  reckless  one  !  "  said  her  lover  in  fond  jest. 
"Hast  grown  so  full  of  courage  that  thou  wouldst 
signal  them  to  come  ?  Art  not  afraid  what  they 
might  do?" 

The  panic  on  her  face  startled  him.  "  Ramu,"  she 
whispered,   "  for    my  sake  say  it  once  —  '  Jal  Kali 


ma 


f> 


Say  it ;   it  will  not  hurt." 


"  Nothing  will  hurt,  Anunda,"  he  answered  sharply. 
"  Nothing  can  hurt." 

"Can  it  not?  Sometimes  I  have  fancied,  down- 
stairs, that  they  suspect,  Ramu  !  —  if " 


ON   THE   SECOND   STOKY  81 

"  If  they  do,  what  then  ?  To-morrow  will  see  us 
far  away.  I  tell  you  the  times  are  changed.  Why 
there  is  a  police  station  within  hail  almost.  Nay, 
sweetheart!  I  will  not  say  it.  Come,  the  dawn 
breaks." 

"  For  my  sake,  Ramu,  for  my  sake,"  she  pleaded, 
even  as  he  drew  her  with  him,  reluctant  yet  willing. 

And  now  on  the  landing  where  the  brick  and  the 
stone  met,  he  paused  again,  his  pulses  throbbing  with 
passion,  to  think  that  this  was  their  last  parting. 

"  Take  heart,  beloved,"  he  whispered.  "  Sure  I 
am  Ram  and  thou  art  Anunda.  Who  can  hinder 
God's  happiness  when  He  gives  it?"^ 

The  conceit  upon  the  meaning  of  their  names 
brought  a  faint  smile  to  her  face,  and  yet  once  more 
she  whispered  doubtfully  :  "But  this  is  happiness. 
Ah,  Ramu!  it  would  be  better — so " 

"  It  will  be  better,"  he  corrected.  "  It  is  quite 
easy,  heart's  beloved.  A  hired  carriage  and  two 
railway  tickets,  that  is  all !  As  for  Mai  Kali  —  I 
defy  her ! " 

Suddenly  through  the  darkness,  which  seemed  to 
hold  them  closer  to  each  other,  came  a  sound  making 
them  start  asunder.  It  was  the  clang  of  the  bell 
which  hung  before  the  shrine. 

"  Kali  ma  !  Kali  ma  !  "  Anunda's  pitiful  little 
sobbing  cry  blent  with  the  clang  as  she  lied  down- 
1  Ram  anund.     Bam,  God  ;  anund,  happiness. 


82  ON   THE   SECOND    STORY 

stairs,  and  the  mingled  sound  sent  a  strange  thrill  of 
fear  to  Ramanund's  heart.  Kali  herself  could  not 
have  heard ;  but  if  there  had  been  others  beside 
themselves  amid  the  shadows? 

He  climbed  to  his  lodging  on  the  roof  full  of  vague 
anxiety  and  honest  relief  that  the  strain  and  the 
stress  and  the  passion  of  the  last  fortnight  was  so 
nearly  at  an  end.  It  was  lucky,  he  told  himself, 
that  it  had  happened  during  holiday  time,  or  the 
exact  sciences  must  have  suffered  —  for  of  course 
the  idea  of  Anunda's  yielding  to  them  was  preposter- 
ous ;  Anunda  who  had  made  him  forget  everything 
save  that  he  was  her  lover.  He  fell  asleep  thinking 
of  her,  and  slept  even  through  the  wailing  which 
arose  ere  long  in  the  next  lodging.  The  wailing  of 
a  household  over  an  only  son  reft  from  it  by  Kali  ma. 

"The  wrath  of  the  gods  is  on  the  house,"  said 
Ramanund's  widowed  mother  when  he  came  down 
late  next  morning.  "  And  I  wonder  not  when  chil- 
dren disobey  their  parents.  But  I  will  hear  thy 
excuses  no  longer,  Ramo.  God  knows  but  my 
slackness  hitherto  hath  been  the  cause  of  that  poor 
boy's  death.  The  holy  man  downstairs  holds  that 
She  is  angry  for  our  want  of  faith,  and  many  folks 
believe  him,  and  vow  some  sacrifice  of  purification. 
So  shall  I,  Ramanund.  This  very  day  I  will  speak 
to  my  cousin  Gungo  of  her  daughter." 

"  Thou    wilt    do    nothino^   of    the    kind,    mother," 


ON    THE    SECOND    STORY  83 

replied  Ramaiiuiid  quietly.  "  I  have  made  my  own 
arrangements.  I  am  going  to  marry  a  widow,  a 
young  and  virtuous  widow." 

He  felt  dimly  surprised  at  his  own  courage,  per- 
haps a  little  elated,  seeing  how  severe  the  qualms 
of  anticipation  had  been  ;  so  he  looked  his  mother 
in  the  face  fairly  as,  startled  out  of  all  senses  save 
sight,  she  stared  at  him  as  if  he  had  been  a  ghost. 
Then  suddenly  she  threw  her  arms  above  her  head 
and  beat  her  palms  together  fiercely. 

"J/az  Kali!  Mai  Kali  I  justly  art  Thou  in- 
censed. Ai!  Kirpo!  Ai !  Bishun !  listen,  hear. 
This  is  the  cause.  My  son,  the  light  of  mine 
eyes,  the  son  of  my  prayers,  has  done  this  thing. 
He  is  the  cursed  one  I  He  would  bring  a  widow 
to  a  Brahmin  hearth.  Jai  Kali  ma!  Jai  Kali 
ma!'' 

''Mother!  mother!  for  God's  sake,"  pleaded 
Ramanund,  aghast  at  the  prospect  of  having  the 
secret  of  his  heart  made  bazaar  property.  "  Think ; 
give  me  time." 

"  Time ! "  she  echoed  wildly.  "  What  time  is 
there  when  folks  die  every  minute  for  thy  sin? 
Oh,  Ramo,  son  of  my  prayer,  repent  —  do  atone- 
ment. Lo!  come  with  me  even  now  and  humble 
thyself  before  Her  feet.  I  will  ask  no  more  but 
that  to-day— no  more."  She  thrust  her  hands 
feverishly  into  his  as  if  to  drag  him  to  the  shrine. 


84  ON    THE   SECOND    STORY 

"  For  my  sake,  Ramo,  for  the  sake  of  many  a  poor 
mother,  remember  whose  son  thou  art,  and  forsake 
not  thy  fathers  utterly." 

"Mother!"  he  faltered;  "mother!"  And  then 
silence  fell  between  them.  For  what  words  could 
bridge  the  gulf  which  the  rapid  flood  of  another 
nation's  learning  had  torn  between  these  two?  A 
gulf  not  worn  away  by  generations  of  culture,  but 
reft  recklessly  through  solid  earth.  Simply  there 
was  nothing  he  felt  to  be  said,  as  with  a  heart 
aching  at  the  utter  impossibility  of  their  ever 
understanding  each  other,  he  did  his  best  to  sooth 
her  superstitious  fears. 

But  here  he  was  met  by  a  conviction,  an  obsti- 
nacy which  surprised  him ;  for  he  had  been  too 
much  occupied  during  the  last  fortnight  to  observe 
the  signs  of  the  times  around  him,  and  knew  noth- 
ing of  the  religious  terror  which,  carefully  fomented 
by  the  priests  as  a  means  of  extortion,  had  seized 
upon  the  neighbourhood.  When,  however,  it  did 
dawn  upon  him  that  the  general  consensus  of 
opinion  lay  towards  a  signal  expression  of  the 
Goddess'  anger,  which  needed  signal  propitiation 
by  more  numerous  sacrifices,  his  indignation  knew 
no  bounds,  and  carried  him  beyond  the  personal 
question  into  general  condemnation,  so  that,  ere 
many  minutes  were  over,  she  was  attempting  to 
sooth   him  in   her   turn.     That    God  was  above  all 


ON   THE    SECOND    STORY  85 

was,  however,  their  one  bond  of  unity;  in  that 
they  both  agreed.  The  truth  would  be  made  mani- 
fest by  the  sickness  being  stayed  or  increased  by 
the  sacrifices.  Meanwhile  the  very  thought  of 
these  latter,  while  it  roused  his  anger,  horrified 
his  refinement  into  a  certain  silence,  and  kept  him 
prisoner  to  the  roof  all  day  for  fear  of  meeting 
some  struggling  victim  on  its  way  upstairs  to  the 
second  story.  This  did  not  matter  so  much,  how- 
ever, since  all  his  arrangements  were  made,  and 
he  had  even  taken  the  precaution  to  secure  his 
railway  tickets  through  a  branch  of  Cook's  agency 
which  had  been  lately  opened  in  the  city.  He 
took  them  out  of  his  pocket  sometimes  and  looked 
at  them,  feeling  a  vague  comfort  in  their  smug, 
civilised  appearance.  Fate  must  needs  be  common- 
place and  secure,  surely,  with  such  vouchers  for 
safe  conduct  as  these ! 

So  the  long  hot  day  dragged  its  slow  length  along. 
Every  now  and  again  the  death-wail,  near  or  distant, 
would  rise  in  even,  discordant  .rhythm  on  the  hot 
air ;  and  as  the  sun  set  it  began,  loudly  imperative, 
under  his  very  roof.  The  only  son  was  being  carried 
out  to  the  burning  ghdt^  and  the  cries  and  sobs 
utterly  overwhelmed  the  shouts  and  shufflings  of 
feet,  the  moans  and  murmur  of  voices,  which  all  day 
long  had  come  from  the  second  story.  It  was  a 
relief  that  it  should  be  so ;  that  the  ear  might  no 


86  ox   THE   SECOND    STORY 

longer  be  all  unwillingly  on  the  strain  to  catch  some 
sound  that  would  tell  of  a  death-struggle  in  the 
slaughter-house  downstairs.  And  yet  the  scene 
being  enacted,  perchance,  on  that  three-cornered 
landing  which,  for  once,  visualised  itself  to  Rama- 
nun  d's  clear  brain,  was  not  one  in  which  to  find 
much  consolation.  The  crowds  of  mourners  edging 
the  bier  down  the  narrow  stairs,  the  crowd  of  wor- 
shippers dragging  the  victims  up.  He  wondered 
which  stood  aside  to  give  place  to  the  other  —  the 
Living  or  the  Dead  ?  The  flower-decked  corpse 
or  the  flower-decked  victim  ?  Flowers  and  blood  I 
Blood  and  flowers  for  a  Demon  of  Death  who  was 
satisfied  with  neither!  Ramanund,  excited,  over- 
strained, wearied  by  many  a  sleepless  night  of  hap- 
piness, covered  his  face  with  his  hands  to  shut  out 
the  sight  even  of  the  book  which  he  tried  to  read. 

So,  as  the  sun  sunk  red  in  the  western  haze  leav- 
ing the  roof  cooler,  he  fell  asleep  and  slept  soundly. 

When  he  woke  it  was  dark,  and  yet,  as  he  stood 
up  stretching  himself,  a  faint  paling  of  the  horizon 
warned  him  that  there  was  light  beneath  it  —  light 
that  was  coming  to  the  world.  The  moon?  Con- 
fused as  he  was  by  sleep,  the  thought  came  to  him, 
only  to  be  set  aside  by  memory.  There  was  no 
moon ;  for  this  was  the  dark  night  of  Kali. 

The  dark  night !  Then  that  must  be  the  dawn 
when   he   had    promised   to   meet    Anunda   on    the 


ON    THE   SECOND   STORY  87 

threshold  !  Was  it  possible  that  he  had  slept  so  long  ? 
Yet  not  too  long,  since  the  dawn  had  not  yet  come, 
and  he  was  ready.  Hurriedly  feeling  for  the  safety 
of  those  precious  tickets,  and  taking  up  a  Gladstone 
bag  which  he  had  already  packed,  he  stole  down 
from  the  roof  cautiously;  and  from  thence  to  the 
landing.  There  was  a  new  odour  now  blending 
with  the  perfumes  of  the  flowers,  and  the  incense, 
and  the  women:  an  odour  which  sickened  him  as 
he  stood  waiting  and  watching  in  the  now  deserted 
threshold.  It  was  the  odour  of  the  shambles;  an 
odour  which  seemed  also  to  lie  heavy  on  the  breath 
and  shorten  it. 

So  by  quick  strides  the  grey  glimmer  through  the 
stone  lattice  grew  and  grew  to  whiteness.  Yet  no 
one  came,  and  there  was  no  light  step  on  the  stair- 
case below  to  tell  of  a  late-comer. 

"Anunda!  Anunda ! "  he  whispered  more  than 
once,  even  his  low  tones  seeming  to  stir  the  heavy 
atmosphere  into  waves  of  sweet  sickening  perfume. 
Was  it  possible  that  she  was  waiting  for  him  within 
—  in  the  old  place? 

That  must  be  it,  surely,  or  else  something  had 
happened.     What  ? 

With  a  beating  heart  he  moved  on  into  the  ante- 
shrine  picking  his  steps  in  an  almost  morbid  terror 
of  what  he  might  be  treading  upon. 

"■  Anunda !     Anunda  I  " 


88  ON   THE   SECOND   STORY 

There  was  no  answer  save,  heavier  than  before, 
that  sort  of  scented  w^ave  coming  back  from  his 
ow^n  words. 

She  was  not  there,  and  something  must  have 
happened.  .  .  .  Not  there !  Impossible,  with  those 
tickets  in  his  pocket,  that  hired  carriage  waiting  at 
the  end  of  the  alley,  that  police  station  round  the 
corner!  .  .  . 

He  strode  forward  with  renewed  courage,  heed- 
less of  the  damp  clamminess  at  his  feet;  strode 
recklessly  right  into  the  yellow  flare  of  the  lamps. 
Save  for  that  ghastly  crimson  upon  the  floor,  the 
walls,  the  canopy,  the  place  lay  unchanged,  and 
quiet  as  the  grave.  No !  there  was  a  change ;  the 
iron  doors  were  open,  and  there,  upon  the  low  stone- 
slab  before  those  clutching  arms,  lay  something.  .  .  . 

God  in  Heaven !  what  was  it  ? 

A  head  —  a  small  dark 

Ramanund's  scream  caught  in  the  big  bell  which 
hung  above  him,  and  the  last  thing  he  heard,  as  he 
fell   forward   on   that   crimson   floor,    was   its   faint 

booming  echo  of  his  own  cry. 

****** 

When  he  came  to  himself  again,  six  weeks  had 
passed  by.  The  heat  was  over,  the  cholera  had 
gone,  and  he  la}^  in  one  of  the  new  wards  of  a 
new  hospital  whither  his  anxious  friends  had  had 
liim    conveyed    when    they   found   how   ill   he   was. 


ON   THE   SECOND   STOKY  89 

The  very  strangeness  of  Lis  environment  held  him 
silent  for  the  first  few  moments  of  conscionsness ; 
then  with  a  rush  it  all  came  back  upon  him  and, 
weak  as  he  was,  he  sat  up  in  bed  wildly. 

"Anunda!  Anunda!  My  God!  the  shrine!  — 
the  blood ! " 

"It  is  a  bad  sign,"  remarked  the  doctor  to  one 
of  his  friends  significantly  when  they  had  persuaded 
him  to  lie  down  again  quietly,  more  from  inability 
to  sit  up,  than  from  obedience.  "It  is  a  bad  sign 
when  the  delusions  remain  after  the  fever  has  left 
the  brain.  However,  it  is  early  days  yet,  and  we 
must  hope  for  the  best." 

"You  should  rid  your  mind  of  such  things," 
said  the  pleader  a  week  or  two  afterwards  when, 
despite  Ramanund's  growing  strength  of  body,  he 
still  reverted  again  and  again  to  that  terrible  dark 
night  of  Kali,  imploring  them  to  search  out  the 
criminals  and  have  them  brought  to  justice.  "  There 
is,  pardon  me,  not  a  tittle  of  evidence  for  truth  of 
your  story ;  but  circumstantial  proof  to  contrary  as 
I  will  state  categorically.  First,  known  dislike  to 
and  hatred  for  Kali  and  such  like,  leading  to  lan- 
guage in  my  hearing  calculated  to  break  the  peace. 
Second,  known  excitement  consequent  perhaps  on 
general  sickness,  stress  of  examinations  before  holi- 
day times,  and  such  like,  leading  to  general  look  of 
fatigue  and  absent-mindedness  noticeable  to  friends 


90  ON   THE   SECOND   STORY 

as  myself.  Third,  known  physical  horror  of  blood 
leading  to  much  recrimination  of  sacrifices,  and  such 
like;  even  to  extent  of  shutting  yourself  up  all  day, 
as  per  mother's  evidence,  from  fear  of  disagreeables. 
Finally,  profound  feverish  sleep  watched  by  same 
mother  with  dubiosity  several  times,  ending  in 
sleep-walk  to  the  reeking  shrine  where  you  are 
found  by  Brahmins  after  dawn  unconscious.  What 
can  be  closer  chain  of  convincing  proof?" 

"  We  have  made  every  inquiry,"  said  his  other 
friends  soothingly,  "short  of  informing  the  police; 
and  we  can  find  no  trace  of  what  you  assert. 
Human  sacrifices  in  times  of  great  sickness  may 
sometimes,  doubtless,  be  on  the  tapis,  but  this  one 
we  believe  is  but  figment  of  a  still  clouded  brain. 
You  must  have  patience.  All  will  come  clear  in 
time." 

And  when  he  asked  for  his  new  friend,  the 
friend  in  whom  he  had  partly  confided  his  love 
story,  they  shook  their  heads  sadly.  "He  was 
almost  last  victim  to  cholera,"  they  said,  "  the 
cause  has  lost  a  shining  light.  All  the  more  need, 
Ramanund,  why  thou  shouldst  shake  off  these  idle 
fancies,  and  be  our  leader  to  perfect  freedom  of 
thought  and  action." 

Perfect  freedom  of  thought  and  action!  Rama- 
nund as  lie  lay  slowly  recovering  of  his  brain  fever 
wondered  if   he  would  ever  have   the   heart  to  be- 


ON   THE    SECOND    STORY  91 

lieve  in  such  a  thing  again.  Wondered  if  he 
would  ever  again  dare  to  call  himself  a  repre- 
sentative of  India  —  that  India  which  had  killed 
Anunda.  For  that  the  horrible  sight  he  had  seen 
on  the  slab  of  stone  beneath  Kali's  clutching  arms 
was  no  dream  or  delusion,  but  a  reality,  he  never 
for  an  instant  doubted.  Why  they  had  done  her 
to  death,  was  the  only  uncertainty  which  tortured 
him  as  he  lay  hopelessly  silent;  silent  because 
there  was  no  use  in  words  when  none  believed 
them.  Had  it  been  simply  a  religious  sacrifice  to 
stay  the  plague  —  a  sacrifice  known  to  thousands 
who  w^ould  guard  the  secret  as  a  divine  obligation? 
The  choice  falling,  naturally  enough,  on  one  who 
was  a  stranger,  and  utterly  helpless  in  the  hands 
of  her  priestly  relations?  Or  was  it  merely  the 
jogis  revenge  for  his  challenge.  Or  was  it  jeal- 
ousy. Had  they  discovered  the  intrigue,  and  was 
the  man  who  had  drawn  the  trident  of  Siva  on 
his  forehead  also  the  man  of  whom  poor  little 
Anunda  had  spoken  with  such  terror?  Yet  what 
did  it  matter,  since  she  was  dead?  What  did  any- 
thing matter  beside  the  memory  of  that  piteous  whis- 
per, "Oh  Ramu!  it  would  be  better  —  so " 

Ah!  why  had  he  tried  to  interfere  with  the  old 
ways  ?  —  why  had  he  sought  for  more  —  why  had 
he  not  let  her  be  happy  while  she  could,  in  her 
own  way? 


92  ON   THE    SECOND    STORY 

When  he  left  the  hospital  he  found  his  mother 
installed  in  a  new  lodging.  It  would  not  be  good 
for  him,  his  friends  had  said,  to  return  to  the  old 
environment  while  his  mind  was  still  clouded  by 
delusions,  so  she  had  performed  the  utmost  act  of 
self-denial  of  which  an  Hindu  woman  is  capable, 
and  removed  herself  and  her  belongings  from  the 
house  where  she  had  lived  her  life.  But  she 
would  have  done  anything  for  Ramanund  at  any 
time ;  how  much  more  so  now,  when  the  Goddess 
had  shown  that  She  still  held  him  as  her  faithful 
servant  by  signs  and  wonders.  Had  She  not 
drawn  him  in  his  sleep  to  Her  very  feet,  on  Her 
dark  night?  —  he  who  would  never  cross  Her 
threshold !  And  had  he  not  been  found  there 
prostrate  amid  the  blood  of  sacrifices,  with  one  of 
Her  garlands  round  his  neck?  —  he  who  would 
never  wear  a  flower ! 

"A  garland,"  faltered  Ramanund  when  she  told 
him  this  exultantly.  Ay !  a  garland  which  she 
would  cherisli  as  her  dearest  possession  since  the 
Goddess  Herself  must  have  thrown  it  around  him 
—  a  garland  which  she  should  show  him  —  if  —  if 
he  ever  again  talked  foolishness  as  he  had  talked 
that  day  when  he  had  frightened  her  so,  not 
knowing  that  he  was  already  in  a  fever. 

"ShoAv  it  me  now,  mother,"  he  said  quietly. 

So  she  showed  it  to  him.     The  chumpak  blossoms 


ON   THE   SECOND    STORY  93 

were  but  yellow  shreds  upon  a  string,  scentless, 
unrecognisable;  here  and  there  clogged  black  with 
the  blood  of  sacrifice  which  had  stained  them  as 
he  fell. 

"  Take  it  awa}^  I "  he  cried  fiercely,  thrusting  it 
from  him.  ''  Take  it  away !  Oh !  curses  on  the 
cruelty  —  curses  on  the " 

"•Jai  Kali  ma!''  interrupted  his  mother  as  she 
laid  the  relic  back  in  the  little  casket  whence  she 
had  taken  it.  '' Jai  Kali  ma!  for  She  stayed  the 
sickness." 

Ramanund  looked  at  her  in  dull  dazed  wonder. 
But  it  was  true  what  she  said.  The  cholera  had 
slackened  from  that  very  time  when  he  had  been 
found  lying  at  the  Goddess'  feet. 


GLORY-OF-WOMAN 

This  is  tlie  story  of  a  backwater;  one  of  those 
still  nooks  sheltered  by  sedges  whither  the  sere 
and  yellow  leaves  drift  and  rest,  while  the  current 
beyond  slips  by  swift  as  ever.  Why  this  particular 
backwater  should  have  called  itself  a  Technical 
School  of  Art-needlework  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  story.  Briefly  it  was  a  sort  of  almshouse  where 
twelve  old  Mohammedan  ladies  drew  a  poor  monthly 
pittance  of  some  few  rupees,  and  sat  contentedly 
enough  year  after  year  twining  gold  thread  on  to 
fine  net.  What  became  of  the  work  when  it  Avas 
done  has  also  nothing  to  do  with  the  story.  Per- 
haps it  was  sold  to  eke  out  the  funds  of  a  charity 
which  did  its  fair  share  of  solacing  sorrow  in  keep- 
ing twelve  pairs  of  small,  soft,  high-bred  hands 
from  the  quern-handle ;  that  last  resource  of  the 
poor  in  India  now,  as  it  was  when  the  Great  Mogul 
refused  to  allow  the  importation  of  Western  machin- 
ery on  the  ground  that  God's  best  gift  to  the  poor 
was  the  millstone  about  their  necks. 

It  was  in  this  odd  little  courtyard,  packed  away 
94 


GLORY-OF-WOMAN  95 

decorously  in  the  very  heart  of  the  loose-living,  gam- 
bling, gold-worker's  quarter,  that  Glory-of-Woman 
found  shelter  after  many  years  of  patient,  peaceful 
privation ;  for  Fakr-un-nissa  (that  was  how  her  name 
ran  in  the  soft  courtly  tongue  of  the  most  brutal 
of  cities)  was  a  Syyedani ;  in  other  words,  of  the 
poorest  and  proudest,  too  poor  to  bring  a  dowr}^  to 
a  husband  of  her  own  rank,  too  generous  to  take 
one  without  it,  too  proud  to  stoop  to  a  partner 
beneath  her  —  or  rather  too  gentle,  too  conserva- 
tive. There  are  hundreds  such  women  in  Delhi, 
and  Fakr-un-nissa  had  been  more  fortunate  than 
most,  seeing  that  being  learned  in  the  Koran  she 
had  kept  body  and  soul  together  by  recitations  at 
fast  and  festival  in  the  zenanas^  and  so  been  spared 
hard  labour.  Perhaps  it  was  this  which  made  her 
look  younger  than  her  fifty  and  odd  years;  at  all 
events  there  was  scarcely  a  wrinkle  on  her  small 
oval  face,  and  her  tall,  slender  figure  showed  no 
sign  of  age. 

She  was  the  youngest  of  the  scholars,  and  every 
evening  when  -the  gold  thread  and  the  filmy  net 
had  been  locked  away  in  a  queer  little  carven 
coffer,  she  was  the  last  to  slip  her  small  feet  into 
one  of  those  twelve  pairs  of  curly  shoes  which  all 
day  long  had  been  ranged  against  the  slip  of  wall 
doing  duty  as  a  screen  at  the  door,  and  the  last 
to   use    the   rickety   dliooli   which   the   charity   pro- 


96  GLORY-OF-WOMAN 

videcl  for  the  modest  conveyance  of  the  fair  ones 
to  their  homes.  It  provided  a  chaperone  too,  in 
the  shape  of  a  big  lump  of  a  girl  about  twenty, 
who  sat  on  the  steps  all  day  chattering  to  the 
passers-by,  giggling  at  their  jokes,  and  chewing 
pdn.  It  was  a  queer  arrangement  seeing  that 
Khadjiya  Khanum,  the  eldest  of  the  scholars,  was 
past  eighty;  but  then  age  had  nothing  to  do  with 
the  fact  that  she  was  a  Syyedani^  and  Juntu  only 
a  gad-about.  There  was  another  pair  of  shoes, 
however,  placed  in  a  corner  apart  from  the  rest; 
for  it  had  come  to  be  a  recognised  custom  in  the 
backwater  that  there  should  always  be  a  thirteenth 
pair  of  feet  ready  to  slip  into  any  vacancy  made 
by  the  sure  decay  which  comes  alike  to  rest  as  to 
unrest.  And  so,  five  years  before,  wdien  Fakr-un- 
nissa  had  stepped  into  the  last  pair  of  shoes  left 
by  a  deserted  wife  who  had  gone  down  into  the 
grave  leaving  one  forlorn  daughter  behind  her,  the 
old  ladies  had  cast  about  to  choose  a  suitable  aspi- 
rant. Not  that  they  really  had  the  right  to  appoint 
any  one,  but  because  experience  showed  them  that 
the  claims  of  a  gratuitous  worker  were  seldom 
overlooked  when  opportunity  came  for  urging  them. 
This  time  the  choice  fell,  naturally  enough,  on  the 
daughter  of  the  dead  scholar.  Just  in  her  teens, 
she  was  hopelessly  alone  in  the  world ;  for  her 
mother,  after  estranging  her  own  people  by  a  mar- 


GLORY-OF-WOMAN  97 

riage  with  a  Mohammedan  Rajpoot,  had  quarrelled 
with  her  husband's  family;  but  not  before  little 
Yasmin  had  been  married,  and  had,  according  to 
the  Ranghar  custom,  become  a  widow  for  life  by 
the  death  of  her  childish  bridegroom.  For  race  is 
stronger  than  religion  and  the  old  Rajpoot  ideas 
have  survived  conversion.  So  Yasmin  in  her  turn 
w^aited  for  a  vacancy  in  the  shoes ;  or  rather  Noor- 
banu  waited,  since  the  old  ladies  would  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  tlie  flowery,  half -heathen  name,  and 
set  themselves  diligently  to  transform  her  into  a 
"  Lady-of-light."  It  was  not  altogether  a  successful 
attempt,  for  the  girl's  wild  Rajpoot  blood  waxed 
rebellious  sometimes ;  but  as  a  rule  Fakr-un-nissa's 
soft  voice  with  its  polished  periods  and  careful 
intonation  would  bring  her  back  to  obedience. 

"  Lo  I  thou  shouldst  mind  me.  Heart's  Delight," 
Glory-of- Woman  would  say  with  a  smile.  "  Do  I 
not  stand  in  Thy  mother's  shoes  ?  Thou  art  young 
now,  Yasmina ;  so  was  I  once ;  yet  thou  wilt  be  as 
I  am,  some  day." 

And  Yasmina  would  make  a  face.  "Well!  that 
is  better  than  being  like  Khadjiya  Khanum,  or 
Maimana  Begum  with  her  little  eyes." 

So  the  years  passed  bringing  no  blank  to  the  roll 
of  high-sounding  names,  no  break  in  the  row  of 
shoes,  no  vacant  place  in  the  semicircle  of  old 
women  which  chased  the  sunshine  round  the  court 


98  GLORY-OF-AYOMAN 

during  the  cold  months,  and  the  shade  during  the 
hot  ones.  For  they  felt  the  stress  of  the  seasons 
in  their  old  bones.  Otherwise  winter  and  summer 
were  alike  to  them ;  as  was  the  green  leaf  and  the 
sere  since  they  had  never  seen  either.  But  Yasmin 
felt  the  spring-time  in  her  blood  and  began  to  weary 
of  being  at  every  one's  beck  and  call. 

"  She  is  a  Ranghar  !  Bury  a  dog's  tail  for  twelve 
years,  and  it  will  still  be  crooked,"  said  Maimana 
Begum.  She  was  full  to  the  brim  of  proverbial 
wisdom,  and  had  a  little  clique  of  her  own  in  that 
semicircle  of  flimsy  net,  glittering  gold  thread,  and 
withered  hands.  Mumtaza  Mahul's  head,  and  those 
of  half  a  dozen  Lights,  or  Desires,  or  Ornaments 
of  the  Palace,  the  World,  or^  of  Woman,  wagged 
in  assent  to  her  words.  It  was  easy  to  change  a 
name  but  not  a  nature ;  and  had  every  one  heard 
that  some  one  had  seen  Noor-Banu  talking  to  a 
woman  with  whom  she  ought  not  to  have  been 
talking  ? 

Glory-of-Woman's  thin  face  grew  eager.  " 'Tis 
a  cousin,  Mai  Kliadjiya.  The  girl  told  me  of  it 
and  I  have  inquired.  A  cousin  of  the  father's, 
married  —  yea !  married,  indeed,  to  a  trooper,  like 
he  is,  serving  the  Sirkar  somewhere.  Such  folks 
lose  hold  on  old  ways,  yet  mean  no  harm.  We 
must  not  judge  them  as  ourselves." 

"  Wdh,    Fakr-un-nissa  I      Wouldjt   say   the    Devil 


GLORY-OF-WOMAN  99 

meant  no  harm  next.  Thy  heart  spoils  thy  faith. 
I  marvel  at  thee,  thou  who  dost  fast  and  pray 
more  than  is  needful." 

The  ring  of  bitterness  in  old  Khadjiya's  tones 
was  explained  by  the  fact  that  it  was  nigh  the  end 
of  the  first  ten  days'  fast  of  Mohurrum-tide  and 
she  had  not  chosen  that  any,  despite  her  age, 
should  exceed  her  in  the  observance  thereof.  And 
Fakr-un-nissa's  zeal  had  raised  the  price  of  self- 
complacency  beyond  reason. 

"  More  than  is  needful !  "  echoed  INIaimana  Begum 
with  a  like  tartness.  "Art  not  rash  to  say  so, 
Mai  Khadjiya?  Sure  the  virtue  of  some  folk  is 
situate  as  the  tongue  among  thirty-two  teeth.  It 
needs  care  to  preserve  itself." 

The  white  shrouded  figures  chuckled.  They 
were  not  really  ill-humoured,  or  evilly  disposed 
towards  Glory-of- Woman ;  it  was  simply  that  her 
excellent  example  had  made  all  their  old  bodies 
rather  fretful.  "And  as  for  the  girl,"  continued 
the  acrid  voice,  "she  is  a  cat  on  the  wall.  God 
only  knows  on  which  side  she  will  jump  down." 

Fakr-un-nissa's  eyes  flashed,  and  her  fingers  en- 
tangled themselves  in  the  gold  thread.  "  Then,  for 
sure,  it  is  our  part  to  make  the  right  side  more 
pleasant  than  the  wrong;  not  to  be  always  finding 
fault  because  she  is  young.  Yea,  'tis  so ;  for  look 
you,  it  seems  ever  to  me  that  we  are   to  blame  — 


100  GLORY-OF-WOMAN 

that  we   are  in   lier   place.     Five   long   years   is   it 
since  she  hath  waited." 

Khadjiya  Khanum's  hands  dropped  from  her 
work  and  flew  out  in  vehement  crackings  of  every 
joint  against  ill-luck.  "  Tohah.,  Tohah !  (For  shame, 
for  shame !)  Mistress  Fakr-un-nissa.  Die  if  thou 
wilt  to  make  room  for  the  hussy.  As  for  me,  I 
wait  on  the  will  of  the  Lord." 

A  murmur  of  assent  ran  tlirough  the  semicircle 
once  more. 

''  Nay,  nay !  I  meant  not  so,"  protested  Fakr-un- 
nissa  hastily.  ''Lo,  death  comes  to  all,  and  goeth 
not  by  age.  I  meant  but  this,  —  sure  'tis  hard  to 
put  it  to  words  —  that  the  old  should  make  room 
for  the  young,  or  make  the  waiting  bearable." 

"  Tchu  !  If  the  heart  be  set  on  a  frog,  what  doth 
it  care  for  a  fairy?"  insisted  the  hoarder  of  other 
folk's  wisdom.  "Dost  mean  to  hint  that  in  this 
place  the  girl  hath  not  had  virtue  set  constantly 
before  her,  ay,  and  preached  too?  It  seems  to 
me  that  we  have  it  almost  to  satiety.  Is  it  not  so, 
sisters  ?  " 

Once  more  the  chuckle  ran  round  the  circle,  and 
Glory-of- Woman  sat  still  more  upright.  "  Amongst 
thy  other  proverbs,  canst  not  recollect  the  one  which 
says,  'Between  the  two  priests  the  fowl  killed  for 
dinner  became  unlawful  to  eat '  ?  "  Then  the  temper 
died  fi'om  her  face  and  she  went  on  in  a  softer  tone: 


GLORY-OF-^VQM.Ai^  '>,'  i''>  ''''  '       101 

'^  I  find  no  harm  in  the  girl,  and  what  wrong  hath 
she  done  this  day  more  than  another  ? " 

"No  more,  for  sure,"  put  in  Mumtaza  Mahul, 
"  since  she  is  hite  at  work  every  day ;  that  is  no 
new  thing,  is  it,  sisters?" 

"  Yet  she  finishes  her  task  as  quick  as  any,  —  as  I, 
anyhow,"  persisted  Yasmina's  advocate,  who  having 
come  to  the  gold  thread  late  in  life  found  it  apt  to  knot. 
"  Wdh-illdh  !  What  a  fuss  about  a  wilful  girl,"  put 
in  a  new^  voice.  "She  is  no  worse  than  others,  and 
needs  restraint  no  more.  She  hath  grown  saucy 
since  we  gave  her  money  instead  of  broken  victuals. 
Put  her  back  to  the  old  footing,  say  I,  when  she  had 
nought  of  her  own." 

Kliadjiya  Khanum's  veiled  head  nodded  sagely. 
"  Thou  hast  it,  Hameda-banu.  Lo,  I,  for  one,  know 
not  why  the  girl  was  ever  given  such  freedom,  save 
indeed  that  it  tallies  with  Fakr-un-nissa's  indecent 
hastening  of  Providence.  I  am  for  the  old  plan." 
"And  I,"  — "And  I,"  — "And  I,"  — assented  a 
chorus  of  set,  certain  voices. 

Glory-of-Woman's  fingers  flew  faster.  "  Then  will 
ye  drive  the  girl  from  us  altogether.  I  know  it,  I 
feel  it.  Yea,  I,  Fakr-un-nissa,  singer  of  the  Koran 
till  my  tone  failed  me,  remember  it;  —  those  days 
when  some  other  song  seemed  better  and  one  must 
needs  sing  it !  Think,  sisters,  remember !  The  eyes 
of  the  body  are  two ;  the  eye  of  the  soul  is  one," 


102  gtory^-of-tVoman 

The  work  had  dropped  from  her  hands  which  were 
stretched  out  in  eager  entreaty.  "  'Tis  but  patience 
for  a  year  or  two.  Then,  since  there  is  no  harm  in 
her,  she  will  settle  down  as  —  as  I  —  as  I  did.  'Tis 
but  the  youth  in  her  veins,  and  God  knows  that  is 
soon  past  for  a  woman ;  yet  one's  glory  remains." 
Her  voice  regaining  some  of  its  jDast  strength,  recol- 
lecting all  its  old  skill  under  the  stimulus  of  both 
memory  and  hope,  filled  the  little  courtyard,  —  and 
availed  nothing. 

Half  an  hour  afterwards,  struck  dumb,  as  sensitive 
natures  are,  by  the  stress  of  passion  around  her,  she 
was  watching  with  stupid  inaction  Yasmin's  final  ven- 
geance on  that  decorous  row  of  curly  shoes  behind 
the  screening  wall.  To  right  and  left,  to  this  corner 
and  that,  they  sped  before  the  reckless  young  feet 
while  the  reckless  young  voice  rose  in  mockery. 
"  Lo,  I  wait  no  longer  for  old  women's  shoes.  I  will 
have  new  ones  of  my  own.  Khujju,  and  Mujju,  and 
the  rest  of  ye  can  sort  them  for  yourselves,  or  go 
down  to  the  grave  one  foot  at  a  time  as  seemeth  to 
ye  best.     I  care  not ;  I  wait  no  longer." 

One  pair  flew  full  in  Maimana  Begum's  face,  and 
then  came  a  pause  before  the  last  pair,  an  odd  sound 
between  a  laugh  and  a  sob,  a  sudden  sweep  of  the 
net  veil  over  the  shoulder,  and  a  half-defiant  nod  to 
the  old  white  fingers.  "  These  shall  sta}^  because 
they  were  my  mother's,  and  because " 


GLORY-OF-WUMAN  103 

The  next  moment  she  was  gone,  leaving  the  twelve 
old  women  sitting  in  the  sunshine,  breathless,  silenced 
by  her  ^^outh,  her  unreason,  her  fire.  Even  Fakr-un- 
nissa  had  no  word  of  defence.  But  after  a  time, 
when  Juntu,  full  of  smiles  and  winks,  came  from  the 
steps  to  aid  the  cackle  which  arose  as  the  silencing 
effect  of  the  shock  wore  away,  Glory-of-Woman 
began  to  feel  the  old  pain  at  her  heart  once  more. 

"  Because  they  were  my  mother's,  and  because " 

She  could  fill  up  the  pause  in  two  ways :  ''  Because 
they  are  yours,  and  you  have  been  kinder  than  the 
others  "  ;  "  Because  they  should  by  rights  be  mine." 
Both  answers  were  disturbing.  She  leaned  back 
against  the  wall,  pressing  her  thin  hands  to  the  thin 
breast  which  had  known  so  little  of  a  woman's  life, 
save  only  that  craving  for  another  song. 

"  Towards  the  bazaar,  sayest  thou  ?  "  came  Khad- 
jiya's  wrathfully  satisfied  voice.  "  To  the  bazaar, 
and  in  Mohurrum-tide,  too !  That  means  the 
worst,  and  we  were  none  too  soon  in  getting  rid 
of  her,  Heaven  be  praised ! " 

"  The  cousin  lives  close  to  the  Choiulc^^''  put  in 
Fakr-un-nissa  faintly.    "  Mayhap  the  girl  goes  there." 

Juntu  laughed.  "  The  cousin  is  a  bad  one ;  no 
better." 

Whereat  Maimana  Begum  remarked  sagely  that 
whether  the  knife  fell  on  the  melon  or  the  melon 
on    the   knife    was    all    one ;    the    melon    suffered. 


104  GLOllY-OF-WOMAN 

Yasmin's  reputation  was  hopelessly  hurt  by  that 
going  bazaar-wards. 

"  For  a  Syyeddni  perchance,"  retorted  Juntu  with 
some  acerbity.  "  Yet  this  I  say ;  there  is  no  harm 
in  the  girl  though  she  be  younger  than  some  folk 
who  need  dhoolis  to  their  virtue."  She  hated  the 
proverb-monger  who  never  from  year's  end  to  year's 
end  gave  her  a  coivrie  or  so  much  even  as  a  word 
of  thanks.  And  then  being  Mohurrum-tide,  when 
in  all  pious  houses  the  Assemblage  of  Mourning 
must  be  held,  the  work  was  folded  away  in  the 
old  carved  coffer,  the  desecrated  shoes  sorted  into 
pairs,  and  one  by  one  the  old  ladies  were  smuggled 
into  the  curtained  dhooU  and  trotted  away  to  their 
homes,  with  buxom  Juntu  chattering  and  laughing 
alongside. 

"Dost  recite  the  Mursidh'^  at  the  Nawab's  this 
year,  Fakr-un-nissa  ?  "  asked  Humeda-banu,  wrapping 
herself  carefully  in  a  thick  white  veil. 

Glory-of-Woman  shook  her  head.  "They  have  a 
new  one.  Last  Mohurrum  I  grew  hoarse.  Per- 
haps 'twas  the  fever;    it  had  held  me  for  days." 

"Fever  I"  echoed  the  other.  "Say  rather  the 
fasting.  Thou  hast  a  dead  look  in  the  face  even 
now,  and  as  for  me,  God  knows  whether  I  feel 
hungry  or  sick.  Thou  shouldst  remember  that  thou 
art  growing  old." 

1  The  dir<?e  in  honour  of  the  martyred  Hussan  and  Hussain. 


GLORY-OF-WOMAN  105 

"I  do  remember   it,"  said   Fakr-un-nissa   half   to 
herself. 

In  truth  she  did.  As  she  sate  awaiting  her  turn 
for  the  curtained  dliooli  she  felt  very  cold,  very 
helpless.  Yasmin,  whom  she  had  loved,  had  broken 
loose  from  all  tradition  and  gone  bazaar-wards. 
The  very  idea  was  terrifying.  The  brain  behind 
that  high  narrow  forehead  of  Fakr-un-nissa's  could 
barely  grasp  the  situation.  For  fifty  years  it  had 
circled  round  the  one  central  duty  of  pious  seclu- 
sion, and  Yasmin's  choice  seemed  almost  incredible. 
For  there  was  no  harm  in  the  girl ;  she  had  al- 
ways been  responsive  to  kind  words.  If  she,  Fakr- 
un-nissa,  could  only  have  had  speech  with  her 
alone!  The  thought  made  her  restless  and  sent 
her  to  the  door,  to  peep,  closely  veiled,  round  the 
screen  and  watch  the  dliooli  containing  Humeda- 
banu  disappear  from  the  steps.  Yet  she  had  done 
her  best,  giving  the  girl  in  secret  what  she  could 
spare  of  the  pittance;  and  this  year  there  would 
be  no  recitation-fees  to  eke  out  the  remainder. 
Perhaps  the  others  were  right,  and  this  generosity 
of  hers  had  fostered  the  girl's  independence.  Khad- 
jiya  and  Maimana  would  say  so,  for  sure,  if  they 
knew.  Then  was  she  to  blame? — she  who  loved 
the  girl,  who  had  taken  the  mother's  shoes.  The 
mere  possibility  was  a  terror  to  the  conscience 
where    the    womanhood    tliat  was  in  her  had  found 


106  GLOKY-OF- WOMAN 

its  only  chance  of  blossoming.     It  is  the  same  East 
and  West.     Glory-of-Woman,  as  she  stood,  tall  and 
thin,  leaning  against  the  dull   brick  screen,  had  as 
much  claim  to  saintship    as   any   in   the    canonised 
calendar;    and  wherefore   not?     Had  not  she  spent 
nearly  fifty  years  in  learning  the  lives  of  the  saints 
by  heart,  and  chanting  the  dirge  of  martyred  virtue  ? 
It  came  back  to  her  dimly  as  she  stood  there.    The 
sombre    dresses    of    the    mourning    assemblage,  the 
glittering  Imdm-hdmh^   dressed  with  such    care   by 
reverent  hands;    and  then  her  own  voice  above  the 
answering   chorus    of    moaning    and    sobbing.     She 
had    power    then,  she    was   helpless    now;    helpless 
and   old,  yet   not    old    enough    apparently    to    die; 
though  when  all  was  said  and  done,  it  was  not  her 
turn,  but  Khadjiya  Khan  urn's.     Yet  she  had   taken 
the  mother's  shoes,  and  had  sat   there   silent  when 
perhaps    a  word   from   her   might   have   saved   that 
awful   journey   to    the    bazaar.     Then    the    thought 
came  to  her  that  the  saints  were  never  helpless,— 
not    even    the    blessed    Fatima   herself  —  Glory-of- 
Woman  had  fasted  and  prayed  for  long   days    and 
nights;   she   felt  miserably  ill  in  soul  and  body,  in 
the  very  miood  therefore  to  slip   her   feet   into   the 
pair  of  shoes  Yasmin's  recklessness  had  spared,  and, 

1  A  model  of  the  martyrs'  shrine ;  a  permanent  erection,  whereas 
the  tcizzias  used  for  the  procession  are  afterwards  burned.  There 
is  a  celebrated  Imani-barah  at  Lucknow,  imported  from  England. 


GLORY-OF-WOMAN  107 

almost  as  recklessly,  pass  without  a  pause  to  the 
doorstep.  The  next  instant  she  was  back  again  in 
shelter,  breathless,  palpitating.  Yet  might  it  not 
be  the  voice  of  God?  And  no  one  would  know; 
she  might  be  back  ere  Juntu  returned,  and  even  if 
she  were  not,  the  gad-about  had  a  kind  heart.  Be- 
sides, another  rupee  from  the  pittance  would  silence 
her  in  any  case. 

East  and  West  nothing  is  impossible  to  such  reli- 
gious exaltation  as  changed  the  slow  current  in 
Fakr-un-nissa's  veins  to  a  stream  of  fire  scorching 
and  shrivelling  every  thought  save  the  one,  —  that 
she  stood  in  the  mother's  shoes  yet  had  said  no 
word.  She  wrapped  her  thick  shroud  of  a  veil 
tighter  round  her  and  stepped  deliberately  into  the 
alley.  The  glory  of  woman,  its  motherhood,  was 
hers  indeed  in  that  instant,  though  she  did  not 
realise  it ;  though  the  thin  breast  lieaving  with  her 
quickened  breath  had  never  felt  the  lip-clasp  of  a 
child. 

It  was  a  long,  low  room,  opening  by  arches  to  a 
wooden  balcony  without,  into  which,  half-fainting 
with  pure  phj^sical  fatigue,  she  stumbled  after 
Heaven  knows  what  trivial  —  yet  to  her  sheer  igno- 
rance almost  awful  —  difficulties  by  the  way.  Yet 
she  was  not  afraid  ;  indeed  as  she  had  passed 
through  the  crowded  streets  it  had  been  wonder 
which  had  come  to  her.     That  this  should  be  a  time 


108  GLORY-OF-WOMAN 

of  fasting  and  mourning,  and  yet  none  seem  to  care  I 
Had  the  world  no  time  to  bewail  dead  virtue?  Had 
it  forgotten  the  Faith  ?  And  this,  too,  was  no 
mourning  assemblage,  though  in  some  of  the  faces 
of  the  lounging  men  she  recognised  the  features  of 
her  own  race,  the  race  of  the  Prophet  himself.  Had 
they  forgotten  also?  She  shrank  back  an  instant, 
until  —  beside  a  flaunting  woman  whose  profession 
was  writ  large  enough  for  even  fifty  years  of  pious 
seclusion  to  decipher  it  instinctively  —  she  saw 
a  slender  figure  crouching  half-sullen,  half-defiant. 
The  face  was  still  veiled,  but  she  knew  it. 

"  Yasmin  !  "  she  cried  breathlessly.  "  Come  back  ! 
Come  back  to  us  !  " 

The  girl  sprang  to  her  feet  with  a  fierce  cry,  and 
was  beside  the  tall  white  form  in  an  instant,  screen- 
ino-  it  with  swift  arms  that  strove  to  force  it  back. 

o 

"  Go  !  I  say  go !  Why  art  thou  here  ?  Thou 
shouldst  not  have  come  hither  !  Go !  See,  I  will 
come  also  if  thou  wilt  not  go  without  me." 

"Not  so  fast,  my  pigeon,"  tittered  the  fiaunting 
woman,  answering  the  half-surprised  looks  of  the 
men  with  nods  and  winks.  '^  Thou  art  in  my  charge 
now,  since  thou  hast  left  the  saints.  Who  is  this 
woman?     Let  her  speak  her  claim." 

Y^smin's  hand  flew  to  Fakr-un-nissa's  mouth. 
"Not  a  word,  A7n7na,^  not  a  word.  See,  I  will  go; 
quick,  let  us  go." 

1  A  pet  name  for  mother  or  nurse. 


GLORY-OF-WOMAN  109 

The  surprise  had  lessened,  and  a  man's  voice  rose 
with  a  laugh.  "What,  let  thee  go  for  nothing,  with 
an  unknown?  Nay,  Mistress  Chambele,  that  were 
unwise.  She  is  thy  cousin ;  the  claims  of  kinship 
must  be  considered." 

"The  claims  of  numbers,  too,"  put  in  another. 
"  Let  the  veiled  one  unveil  since  she  has  come 
among  us." 

"  Nay,  brothers,"  interrupted  a  third  hastily  in  a 
lower  voice,  "  mayhap  she  is  one  of  the  saintly 
women,  and " 

A  laugh  checked  the  speech.  "  So  much  the 
better.     What  doth  a  saint  here?" 

Some  one  had  barred  the  doorway  with  thrust-out 
arm,  and  half  a  dozen  others  with  jeering  faces 
lounged  against  the  wall  crying  languidly,  "  Unveil, 
unveil."  But  Yasmin's  arms  clasped  close.  ^'I  will 
go,"  she  panted.  "  I  will  go  with  her.  She,  —  she 
is  my  mother." 

Chambele's  titter  rang  high  and  shrill.  "  Wdh ! 
That  is  a  tale !  See  you,  friends ;  her  motlier  hath 
been  dead  five  years.  Enough  of  this,  little  fool  I 
Thou  hast  made  thy  choice  already ;  there  is  no 
place  for  thee  yonder  with  the  saints." 

"  She  hath  her  mother's,"  cried  Fakr-un-nissa, 
freeing  herself  from  Yasmin's  hold  with  new 
strength,  born  of  the  girl's  words.  "  Lo,  she  speaks 
truth,   my  sister !      I  stand   in   her   mother's   shoes. 


110  GLORY-OF- WOMAN 

Let  her  go  in  peace,  and  she  shall  have  them 
surely." 

Something  in  the  urbane  polish  of  her  speech 
awoke  memory  in  the  men,  and  one,  older  than  the 
rest,  said  with  a  frown,  ''Yea,  'tis  enough,  Chambel^; 
let  the  woman  go,  and  the  child  also  if  she  wish 
it.  She  will  come  back  another  day  if  she  be  of 
this  sort ;    if  not,  there  are  others." 

"  But  not  without  a  ransom,"  interrupted  one  with 
an  evil  face  and  evil  eyes  which  had  seen  enough  of 
Yasmin's  figure  beneath  the  veil  to  think  her  pres- 
ence gave  unwonted  piquancy  to  the  business. 

"  Yea,  a  ransom,  a  ransom  for  coming  here,  and 
spoiling  pleasure  I  Let  the  saint  pay  the  price  of 
the  sinner ;  unveil  I  unveil !  "  cried  half  a  dozen 
jeering  voices. 

The  sunshine  without  streamed  through  the 
arches  in  broad  bands  upon  the  floor,  but  Fakr-un- 
nissa's  tall  muffled  figure  stood  in  shadow  by  the 
door.  A  fighting  quail  was  calling  boastfully  from 
a  shrouded  cage  over  the  Avay ;  the  cries  of  the 
noisy  bazaar  floated  up  to  the  balcony,  a  harmonious 
background  to  Chambele's  noisier  laugh.  Then, 
suddenly,  came  a  step  forward  into  the  sunlight, 
and  the  heavy  white  veil  fell  in  billowy  curves  like 
a  cloud  about  Fakr-un-nissa's  feet.  For  the  first 
time  in  her  life  Glory-of-Woman  stood  unsheltered 
from  the  gaze  of  men's  eyes.     And  those  eyes  saw 


GLORY-OF-WOMAN  111 

something  worth  seeing,  despite  her  fifty  and  odd 
years :  a  woman  beautiful  in  her  age,  graceful  as 
ever  in  the  sweeping  wliite  draperies  of  the  graceful 
Delhi  dress ;  but  a  woman  forgetful  utterly  of  the 
womanhood,  even  of  the  motherhood  in  her,  as  with 
one  swift  outspreading  of  the  arms  she  broke  into 
the  opening  lines  of  the  Mursidh,  that  dirge  of  mar- 
tyred virtue  which  is  as  closely  interwoven  with  all 
that  is  best  in  the  life  of  a  Mussulman  as  "  Hark,  the 
herald  angels  sing !  "  is  with  the  Christian's  tender 
memories  of  home ;  a  dirge  sacred  to  the  day  and 
the  hour ;  a  dirge  forgotten  by  this  new  world. 
Fakr-un-nissa  remembered  nothing  else.  Many  and 
many  a  time  listless  indifferent  hearts  had  responded 
to  the  fervour  of  her  declamation ;  women's  hearts, 
it  is  true,  and  that  was  a  woman's  derisive  laugh ! 
But  above  it  rose  a  man's  swift  curse  commanding 
silence  for  all  save  that  skilful  voice ;  and  not  silence 
only  —  for  that  was  a  sigh!  So  the  cadences  rang 
truer  and  stronger  out  into  the  sunlight  making  the 
passers-by  pause  to  listen. 

"  An  Assemblage  at  Chambele's  house  !  '*  sneered 
some  one.     "  That  is  a  sinner's  ransom  indeed." 

But  Glory-of-Woman  heard  nothing  save  those 
responsive  sighs,  saw  nothing  but  the  orthodox 
beatings  of  the  breast  with  which  one  or  two  of 
the  elder  men  gave  in  to  custom. 

The   last   ameen  left    her   still   blind,   still   deaf. 


112  GLORY-OF-WOMAN 

Then  came  a  laugh.  "With  half  her  years  I'd 
take  the  samt  before  the  sinner,"  said  the  man 
with  the  evil  face. 

Glory-of-Woman  stood  for  a  second  as  if  turned 
to  stone.  Then  she  threw  up  her  hands  with  a 
cry  and  sank  in  a  huddled  heap  upon  the  white 
curves  of  her  fallen  veil. 

"  God  smite  your  soul  to  eternal  damnation ! " 
cried  a  man's  voice. 

But  Glory-of-Woman  was  to  hear  no  man's 
voice  again.  She  had  kept  her  promise,  and  the 
last  pair  of  curly  shoes  behind  the  screen  was 
vacant.  In  due  time  Noor-banu  slipped  into  them, 
for  the  eleven  old  ladies  and  Juntu  made  peace 
with  her  for  the  sake  of  Fakr-un-nissa. 

"  Lo !  the  ways  of  Providence  are  not  our 
ways,"  said  Khadjiya  Khanum  piously  over  her 
horn  spectacles.  "And  she  Avas  ever  in  a  hurry. 
For   my  part   I   wait  on    the  will  of  the  Lord." 

Maimana  Begum  cackled  under  her  breath. 
"Hair-oil  is  wasted  on  a  bald  head,"  she  said  in 
a  whisper  to  Humeda-banu.  "Her  time  is  near, 
hurry  or  no  hurry.     Who  comes,  must  go." 


AT   THE   GREAT   DURBAR 

He  sat,  cuddled  up  in  a  cream-coloured  cotton 
blanket,  edged  with  crimson,  shoo-ing  away  the 
brown  rats  from  the  curved  cobs  of  Indian  corn. 
The  soft  mists  of  a  northern  November  hung  over 
the  landscape  in  varying  density.  Heavy  over  the 
dank  sugar-cane  patch  by  the  well,  lighter  on  the 
green  fodder  crop,  dewy  among  the  moisture-lov- 
ing leaves  of  the  sprouting  vetches,  and  here,  in 
the  field  of  ripening  maize,  scarcely  visible  be- 
tween the  sparse  stems.  He  was  an  old  man 
with  a  thin  white  beard  tucked  away  behind  his 
ears  and  a  kindly  look  on  his  high-featured  face. 
Every  now  and  then  he  took  up  a  little  clod  of 
earth  from  the  dry,  crumbling  ridge  of  soil  which 
divided  the  field  he  was  watching  from  the  sur- 
rounding ones,  and  threw  it  carefully  among  the 
maize,  saying  in  a  gentle,  grumbling  voice,  '•'•  Ari, 
brothers  !     Does  no  shame  come  to  you  ?  " 

It  had  no  perceptible  effect  on  the  rats,  who, 
owing  to  the  extreme  sparsity  of  the  crop,  could 
I  113 


114  AT   THE   GREAT   DURBAPw 

be  seen  every  here  and  there  deliberately  climb- 
ing up  a  swaying  stem  to  seat  themselves  on  a 
cob  and  begin  breakfast  systematically.  In  the 
calm,  windless  silence  you  could  almost  hear  the 
rustle  and  rasp  of  their  sharp  white  teeth.  But 
Nanuk  Singh  —  as  might  have  been  predicted  from 
his  seventy  and  odd  years  of  life  in  the  fields  — 
was  somewhat  hard  of  hearing;  somewhat  near  of 
vision  also.  For  when  so  many  years  have  been 
spent  watching  the  present  furrow  cling  to  the 
carves  of  the  past  one,  in  sure  and  certain  ho^^e 
of  similar  furrows  in  the  future,  or  in  listening  to 
the  endless  lamentations  of  a  water-wheel  ceasing 
not  by  day  or  night  to  proclaim  an  eternity  of 
toil  and  harvest,  both  eyes  and  ears  are  apt  to 
grow  dull  towards  new  sights  and  sounds.  Na- 
nuk's  had,  at  any  rate,  even  though  the  old 
familiar  ones  no  longer  occupied  them ;  fate  hav- 
ing decreed  that  in  his  old  age  the  peasant  farmer 
should  have  neither  furrows  nor  water-wheel  of 
his  own.  How  this  had  come  about  needs  a 
whole  statute  book  of  Western  laws  to  under- 
stand. Nanuk  himself  never  attempted  the  task. 
To  him  it  was,  briefly,  the  will  of  God.  His 
district-officer,  however,  when  the  case  fell  under 
his  notice  by  reason  of  the  transfer  of  the  land, 
thought  differently ;  and  having  a  few  minutes' 
leisure    from    office    drudgery   to    spare    for   really 


AT   THE   GREAT    DURBAR  115 

important  work,  made  yet  one  more  representa- 
tion regarding  the  scandalous  rates  of  interest,  the 
cruelty  of  time-foreclosures,  and  the  general  in- 
justice of  applying  the  maxim  ''caveat  emptor'' 
to  transactions  in  which  one  party  is  practically  a 
child  and  the  other  a  Jew.  A  futile  representa- 
tion, of  course,  since  the  Government,  so  experts 
affirm,  is  not  strong  enough  to  attack  the  Frank- 
enstein monster  of  Law  which  it  has  created. 

In  a  measure,  nevertheless,  old  Mnuk  was  right 
in  attributing  his  ruin  to  fate,  since  it  had  fol- 
lowed naturally  from  the  death  of  his  three  sons. 
One,  the  eldest,  dying  of  malarial  fever  in  the 
prime  of  life,  leaving,  alas !  a  young  family  of  girls. 
Another,  the  youngest,  swept  off  by  cholera  just  as 
his  hand  began  to  close  firmly  round  his  dead 
brother's  plough-handle.  The  third,  when  on  the 
eve  of  getting  his  discharge  from  a  frontier  regi- 
ment in  order  to  take  his  brothers'  places  by  his 
father's  side,  being  struck  down  ingloriously  in 
one  of  the  petty  border  raids  of  which  our  Punjab 
peasant  soldiers  have  always  to  bear  the  brunt. 

And  this  loss  of  able  hands  led  inevitably  to  the 
loss  of  ill-kept  oxen ;  while  from  the  lack  of  well- 
cattle  came  that  gradual  shrinkage  of  the  irrigated 
area  where  some  crop  is  certain  —  rain  or  no  rain  — 
which  means  a  less  gradual  sinking  further  and 
further  into  debt ;  until,  as  had  been  the  case  with 


116  AT   THE   GREAT   DURBAR 

Nanuk,  the  owner  loses  all  right  in  the  land  save 
the  doubtful  one  of  toil.  Even  this  had  passed 
from  the  old  man's  slackening  hold  after  his  wife 
died,  and  the  daughters-in-law,  w^ith  starvation  star- 
ing them  in  the  face,  had  drifted  away  back  to 
their  own  homes,  leaving  him  to  live  as  best  he 
could  on  the  acre  or  so  of  unirrigated  land  lent 
to  him  out  of  sheer  charity.  For  public  opinion 
still  has  some  power  over  the  usurer  in  a  village 
of  strong  men,  and  all  his  fellows  respected  old 
Nanuk,  who  stood  six  feet  two,  barefoot,  and  had 
tales  to  tell  of  the  gentle  art  of  singlestick  as  ap- 
plied to  the  equitable  settling  of  accounts  in  the 
old  days,  before  Western  laws  had  taken  the  job 
out  of  the  creditors  hands. 

Strangely  enough,  however,  Nanuk,  as  he  sat  cop- 
ing inadequately  with  the  brown  rats,  felt  less  re- 
sentment against  the  usurer  who  had  robbed  him, 
or  the  law  which  permitted  the  robbery,  than  he 
did  against  the  weather.  The  former  had  made 
no  pretence  of  favouring  him ;  the  latter,  year 
after  year,  had  tempted  his  farmer's  soul  to  lavish 
sowings  by  copious  rain  at  seed  time,  and  there- 
inafter withheld  the  moisture  necessary  for  a  bare 
return  of  measure  for  measure.  Briefly,  he  had 
gambled  in  grain,  and  he  had  lost.  Lost  hope- 
lessly in  this  last  harvest  of  maize,  since,  when  the 
sound  cobs  should  be  separated   from    those  which 


AT   THE   GREAT   DUKBAR  117 

the  wanton  teeth  had  spoilt,  they  would  not  yield 
the  amount  of  Government  revenue  which  the  old 
man  had  to  pay;  certainly  would  not  do  so  if  the 
cobs  became  scarcer  day  by  day  and  the  rats  more 
throng.  In  fact,  the  necessity  for  action  ere  matters 
grew  worse  appeared  to  strike  Nanuk,  making  him, 
after  a  time,  draw  out  a  small  sickle  and  begin  to 
harvest  the  remaining  stalks  one  by  one. 

''BuUahl  neighbour  Nanuk,"  cried  the  new  man 
Avho,  better  equipped  for  the  tasks  with  sons  and 
cattle,  was  driving  the  wheel  and  curving  the 
furrows  for  the  usurer,  "I  would,  for  thy  sake, 
the  task  was  harder.  And  as  if  the  crop  were  not 
poor  enough,  the  dissolute  rats  must  needs  play  the 
wanton  wdth  the  half  of  it.  But,  'tis  the  same  all 
over  the  land,  and  between  them  and  the  revenue 
we  poor  folk  of  the  plough  will  have  no  share." 

Nanuk  stood  looking  meditatively  at  a  very  fine 
cob  out  of  which  a  pair  of  sharp  white  teeth  were 
taking  a  last  nibble,  while  a  pair  of  wicked  black 
eyes  watched  him  fearlessly. 

''They  are  God's  creatures  also,  and  have  a 
right  to  live  on  the  soil  as  we  others,"  he  said 
slowly. 

"Then  they  should  pay  the  revenue,"  grumbled 
Dittu.  "Why  should  i/ou,  who  have  no  crop 
whereon  to  pay?  Ai  terif'  he  added  sharply  to 
one   of   the    oxen   he    was    driving    to    their   work, 


118  AT   THE   GREAT   DURBAR 

"sleepest   thou?    and   the  well   silent!     Dost  want 
to  bring  me  to  Nanuk's  plight?" 

So  with  a  prod  of  the  goad,  he  passed  on,  leaving 
old  Nanuk  still  looking  at  the  broAvn  rat  on  the  corn- 
cob. Why,  indeed,  should  he  have  to  pay  for  God's 
other  creatures?  In  the  old  days  justice  would 
have  been  meted  out  to  such  as  he.  The  crop  would 
have  been  divided  into  heaps,  so  many  for  the  owner 
of  the  soil,  so  many  for  the  tiller,  so  many  for  the 
State.  Then  if  Purameshivar'^  sent  rats  instead  of 
rain  the  heaps  were  smaller.  That  was  all.  And 
if  the  equity  of  this  had  been  patent  to  those  older 
rulers,  who  had  scarcely  given  a  thought  in  other 
ways  to  tlie  good  of  their  subjects,  why  should  it 
not  be  patent  to  those  new  ones  who,  God  keep 
them !  gave  justice  without  respect  of  persons,  so 
far  as  in  them  lay  ?  There  must  be  a  mistake 
somewhere ;  the  facts  could  not  have  been  properly 
placed  before  the  Ldt-sahih  —  that  vice-regent  of 
God  upon  earth.  This  conviction  came  home  slowly 
to  the  old  man  as  he  finished  his  harvesting ;  slowly 
but  surely,  so  that  when  he  had  spread  the  cobs  out 
to  dry  on  his  cotton  blanket  he  walked  over  to  the 
well,  and,  between  the  whiffs  of  the  general  pipe, 
hinted  that  he  thought  of  laying  the  matter  before 
the  authorities.  "  I  will  take  the  produce  of  my 
field,"  he  said,  "in  my  hand — it  will  not  be  more 
1  The  Great  God. 


AT   THE   GREAT   DURBAR  119 

than  five  seers  when  the  good  is  sifted  from  the 
bad  —  and  I  will  say  to  the  Ldt-saldh^  '•  This  is  be- 
cause Purameshwar  sent  rats  instead  of  rain.  Take 
j^our  share,  and  ask  no  more.' " 

Dittu,  the  new  man,  laughed  scornfully.  "  Better 
take  a  rat  also,  since  all  parties  to  the  case  must 
be  present  by  the  law." 

He  intended  it  as  a  joke,  but  Nanuk  took  it 
quite  seriously.  "  That  is  true,"  he  assented ;  "  I 
will  take  a  rat  also ;  then  there  can  be  no  mis- 
take." 

That  evening,  when  he  sat  with  his  cronies  on 
the  mud  da'is  beneath  the  jyeepul  tree,  where  he 
was  welcome  to  a  pull  out  of  anybody's  pipe,  he 
spoke  again  of  his  intention.  The  younger  folk 
laughed,  but  the  seniors  thought  that  it  could  at 
least  do  no  harm.  Nanuk's  case  was  a  hard  one; 
it  was  quite  clear  he  could  not  pay  the  revenue, 
and  it  was  better  to  go  to  the  fountain-head  in 
such  matters,  since  underlings  could  do  nothing 
but  take  fees.  So,  while  the  stars  came  out  in  the 
evening  sky,  they  sat  and  told  tales  of  Nausherwan, 
and  many  another  worthy  whose  memory  lingers  in 
native  minds  by  reason  of  perfectly  irrational  acts  of 
despotic  clemency,  such  as  even  Socialists  do  not 
dream  of  now-a-days.  The  corn-cobs  then  being  har- 
vested, dried,  and  shelled,  he  set  to  work  with  the 
utmost  solemnity  on  rat-traps ;  but  here  at  once  he 


120  AT   THE   GREAT   DURBAR 

realised  his  mistake.  By  harvesting  his  own  crop 
he  had  driven  the  little  raiders  further  afield;  and 
though  he  could  easily  have  caught  one  in  his 
neighbour's  patch,  a  desire  to  deal  perfectly  fair 
with  those  who,  in  his  experience,  dealt  perfectly 
fairly  with  facts,  made  him  stipulate  for  a  rat  out 
of  his  own. 

This  necessitated  the  baiting  of  his  property  with 
some  of  the  corn  in  order  to  attract  the  wanton 
creatures  again;  and  even  then,  though  he  sat  for 
hours  holding  the  cord  by  which  an  earthen  dish  was 
to  be  made  to  fall  upon  the  unsuspecting  intruder, 
he  was  unsuccessful. 

"  Trra !  not  catch  rats ! "  cried  a  most  venerable 
old  pantaloon  to  whom  he  applied  for  advice,  re- 
membering him  in  his  boyhood  as  one  almost  god- 
like in  his  supreme  knowledge  of  such  things. 
"Wait  awhile;  'tis  a  trick  —  a  mere  trick  —  but 
when  you  once  know  it  you  cannot  forget  it."  All 
that  day  the  old  men  sat  together  in  the  sunshine, 
profoundly  busy,  and  towards  evening  they  \vent 
forth  together  to  the  field,  chattering  and  laughing 
like  a  couple  of  schoolboys.  It  was  long  after  dusk 
ere  they  returned,  full  of  mutual  recrimination. 
The  one  had  coughed  too  much,  the  other  had 
wheezed  perpetually  ;  there  was  no  catching  of  rats 
possible  under  such  circumstances.  Then  the  old 
pantaloon  went  a-hunting  by  himself,  full   of  con- 


AT  THE   GREAT   DURBAR  121 

fidence,  only  to  return  dejected ;  then  Nanuk,  full 
of  determination,  sat  up  all  one  moonlight  night 
in  the  field  where  —  now  that  he  had  no  crop  to 
benefit  by  it  —  the  night-dew  gathered  heavily  on 
every  leaf  and  blade,  on  Nanuk,  too,  as  he  sat 
crouched  up  in  his  cotton  blanket,  thinking  of  what 
he  should  say  to  the  Ldt-sahih  when  the  rat  was 
caught,  which  it  was  not.  Finally,  with  angry  mis- 
givings as  to  the  capabilities  of  the  present  gen- 
eration of  boys,  the  old  pantaloon  suggested  the 
offering  of  one  whole  anna  for  the  first  rat  capt- 
ured in  N^nuk's  maize-field.  Before  the  day  was 
over  a  score  or  two  of  the  village  lads,  long-limbed, 
bright-eyed,  were  vociferously  maintaining  the  prior 
claims  of  as  many  brown  rats,  safely  confined  in 
little  earthen  pipkins  with  a  rag  tied  round  the 
top.  They  stood  in  a  row,  like  an  offering  of 
sweets  to  some  deity,  round  Nanuk's  bed,  for — as 
was  not  to  be  wondered  at  after  his  night-watch  — 
he  was  down  with  an  attack  of  the  chills.  That 
was  nothing  new.  He  had  had  them  every  autumn 
since  he  was  born ;  but  he  was  not  accustomed  to 
be  surrounded  on  such  occasions  by  brown  rats 
appealing  to  him  for  justice.  It  ended  in  his,  with 
feverish  hands,  giving  one  anna  to  each  of  the  boys, 
and  reserving  his  selection  until  he  was  in  a  more 
judicial  frame  of  mind.  Still,  it  would  not  do  to 
starve  God's  creatures,  so  every  morning  while  the 


122  AT   THE   GREAT   DURBAR 

fever  lingered  —  for  it  had  got  a  grip  on  him  some- 
]io\v  —  he  went  round  the  pipkins  and  fed  the  rats 
with  some  of  the  maize.  And  every  morning,  rather 
to  his  relief,  there  were  fewer  of  them  to  feed,  since 
they  nibbled  their  way  out  once  they  discovered 
that  the  top  of  their  prison  was  but  cloth.  So  as 
he  lay,  sometimes  hot,  sometimes  cold,  the  idea  came 
to  him,  foolishly  enough,  that  this  was  a  process  of 
divine  selection,  and  that  if  he  only  waited  the  day 
when  but  one  rat  should  remain,  his  mission  would 
bear  the  seal  of  success.  An  idea  like  this  only 
needs  presentation  to  a  mind,  or  lack  of  mind,  like 
old  Nanuk's.  So  what  with  the  harvesting  and  the 
rat-catching,  and  the  fever  and  the  omen-awaiting, 
it  was  close  on  the  new  year  when,  with  a  brown 
rat,  now  quite  tame,  tied  up  in  a  pipkin,  some  five 
seed's  of  good  grain  tied  up  in  the  corner  of  his 
cotton  blanket,  and  Heaven  knows  what  a  curious 
conglomeration  of  thought  bound  up  in  his  still 
feverish  brain,  the  old  man  set  out  from  his  village 
to  find  the  Ldt-sahib.  Such  things  are  still  done 
in  India,  such  figures  are  still  to  be  seen,  making 
some  civilised  people  stand  out  of  the  road  bare- 
headed, as  they  do  to  a  man  on  his  way  to  the 
grave  —  a  man  who  has  lived  his  life,  whose  day 
is  past. 

Owing  also  to  the  fever  and  the  paying  for  rats, 
etc.,  old  Nanuk's  pockets  were  ill-provided  for  the 


AT   THE    GREAT    DURBAR  123 

journey,  but  that  mattered  little  in  a  country  where 
a  pilgrimage  on  foot  is  in  itself  presumptive  evidence 
of  saintship.  Besides,  the  brown  rat  —  to  which 
Nanuk  had  attached  a  string  lest  one  of  the  parties 
to  the  suit  might  escape  him  on  the  road  —  was  a 
perpetual  joy  to  the  village  children,  who  scarcely 
knew  if  it  were  greater  fun  to  peep  at  it  in  its  pipkin 
or  see  it  peeping  out  of  the  old  man's  cotton  blanket, 
when  in  the  evenings  it  nibbled  away  at  its  share  of 
Naiiuk's  dinner.  They  used  to  ask  endless  questions 
as  to  why  he  carried  it  about,  and  what  he  was  going 
to  do  with  it,  until,  half  in  jest,  half  in  earnest,  he 
told  them  he  was  the  mucld-ee  (plaintiff)  and  the  rat 
the  mudee-dla  (defendant)  in  a  case  they  were  going 
to  lay  before  the  Ldt-sahih  ;  an  explanation  perfectly 
intelligible  to  even  the  babes  and  sucklings,  who  in  a 
Punjabi  village  now-a-days  lisp  in  numbers  of  petitions 
and  pleaders. 

So  the  mudd-ee  and  mudee-dla  trampled  along  to- 
gether amicably,  sometimes  by  curving  wheel-tracks 
among  the  furrows  —  ancient  rights-of-way  over  the 
wide  fields,  as  transient  yet  immutable  as  the  furrows 
themselves;  and  there,  with  the  farmer's  eye-heritage 
of  generations,  he  noted  each  change  of  tint  in  the 
growing  wheat,  from  the  faintest  yellowing  to  the 
solid  dark  green  with  its  promise  of  a  full  ear  to 
come.  Sometimes  by  broad  lanes,  telling  yet  once 
more  the  strange  old  Indian  tale  of  transience  and 


124  AT    THE    GREAT    DURBAR 

permanence,  of  death  and  renewed  birth,  in  the  deep 
grass-set  ruts  through  whicli  the  traffic  of  centuries 
had  passed  rarely,  yet  inevitably.  And  here  with 
the  same  knowledgeable  eye  he  would  mark  the 
homing  herds  of  village  cattle,  and  infer  from  their 
condition  what  the  unseen  harvest  had  been  which 
gave  them  their  fodder.  Finally,  out  upon  the  hard 
white  high-road,  so  different  from  the  others  in  its 
self-sufficient  straightness,  its  squared  heaps  of  nodu- 
lar limestone  ready  for  repairs,  its  elaborate  ar- 
rangements for  growing  trees  where  they  never 
o-rew  before,  and  where  even  Western  orders  will 
not  make  them  grow.  And  here  Nanuk's  eyes  still 
found  something  familiar  in  the  great  wains  creak- 
ing along  in  files  to  add  their  quota  of  corn  sacks 
to  the  mountain  of  wheat  cumbering  the  railway 
platforms  all  along  the  line.  Yet  even  this  was  in 
its  essence  new,  provoking  the  wonder  in  his  slow 
brain  how  it  could  be  that  the  increased  demand 
for  wheat  and  its  enhanced  price  should  have  gone 
hand-in-hand  with  the  financial  ruin  of  the  grower. 

To  say  sooth,  however,  such  problems  as  these 
flitted  but  vaguely  through  the  old  man's  thought, 
and  even  his  own  spoliation  was  half  forgotten  in  the 
one  great  object  of  that  long  journey  which,  despite 
his  cheerful  patience,  had  sapped  his  strength  sadly. 
To  find  the  Ldt-sahih,  to  make  his  salaam,  and  bid 
the  mudee-dla-jee  do  so  likewise,  to  lay  the  produce 


AT   THE   GREAT   DURBAR  125 

of  the  field  at  the  sahib's  feet,  and  say  that  Pura- 
me^hwar  had  sent  rats  instead  of  rain  —  that  in  itself 
was  suf6cient  for  the  old  man  as  he  trudged  along 
doggedly,  his  eyes  becoming  more  and  more  dazed 
by  unfamiliar  sights  as  he  neared  the  big  city. 

"  Bullali  I "  said  the  woman  of  whom  he  begged  a 
night's  lodging.  "  If  we  were  to  house  and  feed  the 
wanderers  on  this  road,  we  should  liave  to  starve 
ourselves.  And  thou  art  a  Sikh.  Go  to  thine  own 
people.  'Tis  each  for  each  in  this  world."  That 
was  a  new  world  to  Nanuk. 

''  Doth  thy  rat  do  tricks  ? "  asked  the  children 
critically.  ''  What,  none  ?  Trra  I  we  can  see  rats 
of  that  mettle  any  day  in  the  drains,  and  there  was 
a  man  here  yesterday  whose  rat  cooked  bread  and 
drew  water.  Ay !  and  his  goat  played  the  drum. 
That  was  a  show  worth  seeing." 

So  Nanuk  trudged  on. 

"  See  the  Ldt-sahib^^''  sneered  the  yellow-legged  po- 
lice constable  when,  after  much  wandering  through 
bewildering  crowds,  the  old  Sikh  found  himself  at  a 
meeting  of  roads,  each  one  of  which  was  barred  by  a 
baton.    ''  Which  Ldt-sahih  —  the  big  one  or  the  little?" 

"  The  big  one,"  replied  Nanuk  stoutly.  There 
was  no  good  in  underlings ;    that  he  knew. 

Police  Constable  number  seventy-five  called  over 
to  his  crony  number  ninety-six  on  the  next  road. 

"  Arl^  brother !     Here  is  another  durhari.     Canst 


126  AT    THE    GREAT    DURBAR 

let  him  in  on  thy  beat?  I  have  no  room  on  mine." 
And  then  they  both  laughed,  whereat  old  Nanuk,  tak- 
ing courage,  moved  on  a  step,  only  to  be  caught  and 
dragged  back,  hustled,  and  abused.  What !  was  the 
Great  Durbar  for  the  like  of  him  —  the  Great  Dur- 
bar on  which  lakhs  and  crores  had  been  spent  —  the 
Great  Durbar  all  India  had  been  thinking  of  for 
months?  Wdh!  Whence  had  he  come  if  he  had 
not  heard  of  the  Great  Durbar,  and  what  had  he 
thought  was  the  meaning  of  the  Venetian  masts  and 
triumphal  arches,  the  flags  and  the  watered  roads  ? 
Did  he  think  such  things  were  always  ?  An  I  if  it 
came  to  such  ignorance  as  that,  mayhap  he  would 
not  know  what  this  was  coming  along  the  road. 

It  was  a  disciplined  tramp  of  feet,  an  even  glitter 
of  bayonets,  a  straight  line  of  brown  faces,  a  swing 
and  a  sweep,  as  a  company  of  the  Guides  came 
past  in  their  kdkhi  and  crimson  uniform.  Old 
Nanuk  looked  at  it  wistfully. 

"Nay,  brother,"  he  said,  "I  know  that.  'Twas 
my  son's  regiment,  God  rest  him ! " 

"  Thou  shouldst  sit  down,  old  man,"  said  a  by- 
stander kindly.  "  Of  a  truth  thou  canst  go  no 
further  till  the  show  is  over.  Hark !  there  are 
the  guns  again.  'Twill  be  Bairrmpore  likely,  since 
Huriiana  has  gone  past.  Wdh !  it  is  a  show  — 
a  rare  show  !  " 

So  down  the  watered  road,  planted  out  in  miser- 


AT   THE   GREAT    DURBAR  127 

able  attempts  at  decoration  with  barbers'  poles  un- 
worthy of   a  slum  in  the   East  End,   came  a  bevy 
of    Australian    horses,    wedged   at   a   trot    between 
liuge  kettledrums,  which  were   being  whacked  bar- 
barically  by   men   who   rose   in   their   stirrups   with 
the    conscientious    precision    of    a   newly   imported 
competition-?(^a//(xA.      Then    more    Australian    horses 
a«min    in    an    orfeverie    barouche    lined   with   silver, 
where,    despite    the    glow    of    colour,    the    blinding 
flash  of   diamonds  in   an   Indian  sun,   despite   even 
the  dull  wheat-green   glitter  of   the   huge    emerald 
tiara  about  the  turban,  the  eye  forgot  these  things, 
to  fix  itself  upon  the  face  which  owned  them  all; 
a  face  haggard,  sodden,  superlatively  handsome  even 
in  its  soddenness ;  indifferent,  but  with  an  odd  con- 
sciousness of  the  English  boy  who  — dressed  as  for 
a  flower  show  — sat  silently  beside  his  charge.     Be- 
hind  them  with   a   clatter   and  flutter   of   pennons 
came  a  great   trail  of   wild   horsemen,  showing  as 
they   swept   past,  dark,  lowering   faces   among   the 
sharp  spear  points. 

And  the  guns  beat  on  their  appointed  tale,  till, 
with  the  last,  a  certain  satisfaction  came  to  that 
sodden  face,  since  there  were  none  short  in  the 
salute— as  yet  The  measure  of  his  misdoings 
was  not  full  as  yet} 

1  A  reduction  in  the  number  of  guns  is  the  first  punishment  for 
bad  administration. 


128  AT   THE   GREAT   DURBAR 

The  crowd  ebbed  and  flowed  irregularly  to  border 
the  straight  white  roads,  where  at  intervals  the  great 
tributary  chiefs  went  backwards  and  forwards  to  pay 
their  State  visits,  but  Nanuk  and  his  rat  —  the  plain- 
tiff and  the  defendant  —  waited  persistently  for  their 
turn  to  pass  on.  It  was  long  in  coming;  for  even 
when  the  last  flash  and  dash  of  barbaric  splendour 
had  disappeared,  the  roar  of  cannon  began  louder, 
nearer,  regular  to  a  second  in  its  even  beat. 

"  That  is  the  Xa^salute,"  said  one  man  to  another 
in  the  crowd.  "  Let  us  wait  and  see  the  Ldt^ 
brother,  ere  we  go." 

Nanuk  overheard  the  words,  and  looked  along 
the  road  anxiously,  then  stood  feeling  more  puzzled 
than  ever;  for  there  was  nothing  to  see  here  but 
a  plain  closed  carriage  with  a  thin  red  and  gold 
trail  of  the  body-guard  behind  it  and  before.  The 
sun  was  near  to  its  setting,  and  sent  a  red  angry 
flare  upon  a  bank  of  clouds  which  had  risen  in  the 
east,  and  the  dust  of  many  feet  swept  past  in  wiiirls 
before  a  rising  wind. 

"It  will  rain  ere  nightfall,"  declared  the  crowd, 
contentedly,  as  it  melted  away  citywards.  "And 
the  crops  will  be  good,  praise  to  God." 

Once  more  Nanuk  overheard,  and  this  time  a 
glad  recognition  seemed  to  rouse  him  from  a  dream. 
Yes  !  the  crops  would  be  good.  Down  by  the  well, 
on   the   land  he  and  his  had  plouglied  for  so  many 


AT   THE   GREAT    DURBAR  129 

years,  the  wheat  would  be  green  —  green  as  those 
emeralds  above  that  sodden  face. 

"  The  Ldt  has  gone  out,"  joked  Constable  Seventy- 
five  as  he  went  oft"  duty ;  "  but  there  are  plenty  of 
other  things  worth  seeing  to  such  an  ignoramus  as 
thou." 

True;  only  by  this  time  Nanuk  was  almost  past 
seeing  aught  save  that  all  things  were  unfamiliar 
in  those  miles  and  miles  of  regiments  and  rajahs, 
electric  lights  and  newly  macadamised  roads,  tents 
and  make-believe  gardens,  all  pivoted,  as  it  were, 
round  the  Royal  Standard  of  England,  which  was 
planted  out  in  the  centre  of  the  Viceroy's  camp. 
As  he  wandered  aimlessly  about  the  vast  canvas 
city,  hustled  here,  sent  back  there,  the  galloping 
orderlies,  the  shuffling  elephants,  the  carriages  full 
of  English  ladies,  the  subalterns  cracking  their 
tandem  whips,  and  the  native  outriders  had  but 
one  word  for  him. 

"  Hut !   Hut !  "  (Stand  back  —  stand  back  !) 

A  heavy  drop  of  rain  came  as  a  welcome  excuse 
to  his  dogged  perseverance  for  sheltering  awhile 
under  a  thorn  bush.  He  was  more  tired  than 
hungry,  though  he  had  not  tasted  food  that  day; 
and  it  needed  a  sharp  nip  from  the  defendant's 
teeth,  as  it  sought  for  something  eatable  in  the 
folds  of  his  blanket,  to  remind  him  that  others  of 
God's  creatures  had  a  better  appetite  than  he.     But 


130  AT   THE   GREAT   DURBAR 

what  was  he  to  give  ?  There  was  the  five  seers  of 
grain  still,  of  course ;  but  who  was  to  apportion 
the  shares ;  who  was  to  say,  "  This  much  for  the 
plaintiff,  this  much  for  the  defendant,  this  much 
for  thj  State?"  The  familiar  idea  seemed  to  give 
him  support  in  the  bewildering  inrush  of  new  im- 
pressions, and  he  held  to  it  as  a  drowning  man  in  a 
waste  of  unknown  waters  clutches  at  a  straw. 

Nevertheless,  the  parties  to  the  suit  must  not  be 
allowed  to  starve  meanwhile,  and  if  they  took  equal 
shares  surely  that  would  be  just  ? 

The  rain  now  fell  in  torrents,  and  the  kika7'-hush 
scarcely  gave  him  any  shelter  as,  with  a  faint  smile, 
he  sat  watching  the  brown  rat  at  work  upon  the 
corn,  and  counting  the  number  of  grains  the  wanton 
teeth  appropriated  as  their  portion.  For  so  much, 
and  no  more,  would  be  his  also.  It  was  not  a 
sumptuous  repast,  but  uncooked  maize  requires 
mastication,  and  that  took  up  time.  So  that  it 
was  dark  ere  he  stood  up,  soaked  through  to  the 
skin,  and  looked  perplexedly  at  the  long  lines  of 
twinkling  lights  which  had  sprung  up  around  him. 
And  hark!  what  was  that?  It  was  the  dinner  bugle 
at  a  mess  close  by,  followed,  as  by  an  echo,  by  an- 
other and  another  and  another  —  quite  a  chorus  of 
cheerful  invitations  to  dinner.  But  Nanuk  knew 
nothing  of  such  feasts  as  were  spread  there  in  the 
wilderness.     He  liad  lived  all  his  life  on  wheat  and 


AT   THE    GREAT   DURBAR  131 

lentils,  though,  being  a  Sikh,  he  would  eat  wild 
boar  or  deer  if  it  could  be  got,  or  take  a  tot  of 
country  spirits  on  occasion  to  make  life  seem  less 
dreary.  He  stood  listening,  shivering  a  little  with 
the  cold,  and  then  went  on  his  way,  since  the  Ldt- 
sahib  must  be  found,  the  case  decided,  before  this 
numbing  forgetfulness  crept  over  everything. 

Sometimes  he  inquired  of  those  he  met.  More 
often  he  did  not,  but  wandered  on  aimlessly  through 
the  maze  of  light,  driven  and  hustled  as  he  had 
been  by  day.  And  as  he  wandered  the  bands  of 
the  various  camps  were  playing,  say,  the  march 
in  "  Tannhauser,"  or  "■  Linger  longer.  Loo."  But 
sooner  or  later  they  all  paused  to  break  suddenly 
into  a  stave  or  two  of  another  tune,  as  the  colonel 
gave  "  The  Queen "  to  his  officers. 

Of  all  this,  again,  Nanuk  knew  nothing.  Even 
at  the  best  of  times,  he  had  been  ignorant  as  a 
babe  unborn  of  anything  beyond  his  fields,  and 
now  he  remembered  nothing  save  that  he  and  the 
brown  rat  were  suitors  in  a  case  against  Piira- 
meslnvar  and  the  State. 

So  the  night  passed.  It  was  well  on  into  the 
chilliest  time  before  the  dawn,  when  the  slumber, 
which  comes  to  all  the  world  for  that  last  dead 
hour  of  darkness  having  rid  him  of  all  barriers, 
he  found  himself  beneath  what  had  been  the  goal 
of  his  hopes  ever  since  be  had  first  seen  its  strange 


132  AT   THE   GREAT    DURBAR 

white  rays  piercing  the  night  —  the  great  ball  of 
electric  light  which  crowned  the  flagstaff  whereon 
the  Standard  of  England  hung  dank  and  heavy  ; 
for  the  wind  had  dropped,  the  rain  had  ceased,  and 
a  thick  white  mist  clung  close  even  to  the  round 
bole  of  the  mast,  which  was  set  in  the  centre  of 
a  stand  of  chrysanthemums.  The  colours  of  the 
blossoms  were  faintly  visible  in  the  downward 
gleam  of  the  light  spreading  in  a  small  circle 
through  the  mist. 

So  far  good.  This  was  the  "  Standard  of  Sover- 
eignty^'' no  doubt  —  the  ''^ Lamp  of  Safety''  —  the 
guide  by  day  and  night  to  faithful  subjects  seeking 
justice  before  the  king.  This  Nanuk  understood ; 
this  he  had  heard  of  in  those  tales  of  Nausherwan 
and  his  like,  told  beneath  the  village  i^eepid  tree. 

Here,  then,  he  would  stay  —  he  and  the  defendant 
—  till  the  dawn  brought  a  hearing.  He  sat  down, 
his  back  to  the  flowers,  his  head  buried  in  his  knees. 
And  as  he  sat,  immovable,  the  mist  gathered  upon 
him  as  it  had  gathered  in  the  field.  But  he  was  not 
thinking  now  w^hat  he  should  say  to  the  Ldt-sahib. 
He  was  past  that. 

He  did  not  hear  the  jingle  and  clash  of  arms 
which,  after  a  time,  came  through  the  fog,  or  the 
voice  which  said  cheerfully  — 

"  'Appy  Noo  Year,  to  you,  mate  ! " 

•'Same    to    you.     Tommy,     and     many     of     'em; 


AT   THE   GREAT   DUllBxVR  133 

but  it's  rather  you  nor  I,  for  it's  chillin'  to  the 
vitals." 

They  were  changing  guards  on  this  New  Year's 
morning,  and  Private  Smith,  as  he  took  his  first  turn 
under  the  long  strip  of  canvas  stretched  as  a  sun- 
shelter  between  the  two  sentry-boxes,  acknowledged 
the  truth  of  his  comrade's  remark  by  beating  his 
arms  upon  his  breast  like  any  cabman.  Yet  he  was 
hot  enough  in  his  head,  for  he  had  been  singing 
''  Auld  Lang  Syne "  and  drinking  rum  for  the 
greater  part  of  the  night,  and,  though  sufficiently 
sober  to  pass  muster  on  New  Year's  Eve,  was  drunk 
enough  to  be  intensely  patriotic.  So,  as  he  walked 
up  and  down,  there  was  a  little  lilt  in  his  step 
which  attempted  to  keep  time  to  the  stave  of  "  God 
Save  our  Gracious  Queen,"  which  he  was  whistling 
horribly  out  of  tune.  On  the  morrow  —  or,  i-ather, 
to-day,  since  the  dawn  was  at  hand  —  there  was  to 
be  the  biggest  review  in  which  he  had  ever  taken 
part;  six  and  twenty  thousand  troops  marching 
up  to  the  Royal  Standard  and  saluting !  They 
had  been  practising  it  for  weeks,  and  the  thrill  of 
it,  the  pride  and  power  of  it,  had  somehow  got 
into  Private  Smith's  head  —  with  the  rum.  It 
made  him  take  a  turn  beyond  that  strip  of  canvas, 
round  the  flagstaff  he  was  supposed  to  guard. 

"'Alt!  'oo  goes  there?" 

The  challenge  rang  loudly,  rousing  Nanuk   from 


134  AT   THE   GREAT   DURBAR 

a  dream  which  was  scarcely  less  unreal  than  the 
past  twelve  hours  of  waking  had  been  to  his  igno- 
rance. He  stumbled  up  stiffly  —  a  head  taller  than 
the  sentry — and  essayed  a  salaam. 

"  'Ullo !  What  the  devil  are  you  doin'  here  ? 
Hut^  you  nigger!     Goramighty!  wot's  that?" 

It  was  the  defendant,  which  Nanuk  had  brought 
out  to  salaam  also,  and  which,  alarmed  at  the 
sudden  introduction,  began  darting  about  wildly 
at  the  end  of  its  string.  Private  Smith  fell  back 
a  step,  and  then  pulled  himself  together  with  a 
violent  effort,  uncertain  if  the  rat  were  real;  but 
the  cold  night  air  was  against  him. 

"  Wash'er-mean?  —  Wash'er  doin'-'ere  ?  —  Wash'er- 
got?"  he  asked,  conglomerately,  and  Nanuk,  under- 
standing nothing,  went  down  on  his  knees  the 
better  to  untie  the  knot  in  the  corner  of  his 
blanket.  "- Poygle,'' '^  commented  Private  Smith, 
recovering  himself  as  he  looked  down  at  the  heap 
of  maize,  the  defendant,  and  the  old  man  talking 
about  Puramesliivar.  Then,  being  in  a  benevolent 
mood,  he  wagged  his  head  sympathetically.  ''Pore 
old  Johnny !  wot's  'e  want,  with  'is  rat  and  'is 
popcorn?  Fine  lookin'  old  chap,  though  —  but  we 
licked  them  Sickies,  and,  by  gum!  we'll  lick  'em 
again,  if  need  be  ! " 

The    thought   made   him    begin    to   whistle    once 
1  Pagul  =  mad. 


AT   THE   GllEAT    DUKBAR  135 

more  as  he  bent  unsteadily  to  look  at  something 
which  glittered  faintly  as  the  old  man  laid  it  on 
the  top  of  the  pile  of  corn. 

It  was  his  son's  only  medal. 

"  Hillo ! "  said  Private  Smith,  bringing  himself 
np  with  a  lurch,  "so  that  is  it,  eh,  mate?  Gor- 
save-a-Queen !  Now  wot's  up,  sonny?  'Orse 
guards  been  a-doing  wot  they  didn't  ought  to  'ave 
done?  Well,  that  ain't  no  noos,  is  it,  comrade? 
But  we'll  drink  the  old  lady's  'elth  all  the  same. 
Lordy!  if  you've  bin  doin'  extra  dooty  on  the  rag 
all  night  you  won't  mind  a  lick  o'  the  lap  —  eh? 
Lor'  bless  you!  —  I  don'  want  it.  I've  had  as 
mush  as  me  and  Lee-Mitford  can  carry  'ome  with- 
out takin'  a  day-tour  by  orderly  room  —  Woy !  you 
won't,  won't  yer?  Come  now,  Johnny,  don't  be  a 
fool  —  it's  rum,  I  tell  yer,  and  you  Sickles  ain't  afraid 
o'  rum.  Wot !  you  won't  drink  'er  'elth,  you  muti- 
neering  nigger?  Then  I'll  make  yer.  Feel  that 
—  now  then,  ''Ere's  a  'elth  unto'w  her  Majesty.'" 

Perhaps  it  was  the  unmistakable  prick  of  a  bay- 
onet in  his  stomach,  perhaps  it  was  the  equally 
unmistakable  smell  of  the  liquor  arousing  a  crav- 
ing for  comfort  in  the  old  man,  but  he  suddenly 
seized  the  flask  which  Private  Smith  had  dragged 
from  his  pocket,  and,  throwing  his  head  back, 
poured  the  contents  down  his  throat;  the  action  — 
due  to  his  desire  not  to  touch  the  bottle  with  his 


186  AT   THE   GREAT   DURBAR 

lips  —  giving    him     an     almost     ludicrous     air     of 
eagerness. 

Private  Smith  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"  Gor-save-the-Queen  !  "  And  as  he  spoke  the 
first  gun  of  the  hundred  and  one  which  are  fired 
at  daybreak  on  the  anniversary  of  her  Most  Gra- 
cious Majesty's  assumption  of  the  title  Kaiser-i- 
Hind  boomed  out  sullenly  through  the  fog. 

But   Nanuk  did   not  hear  it.     He  had  stumbled 
to  his  feet  and  fallen  side  wise  to  the  ground. 
****** 

"I  gather,  then,"  remarked  the  surgeon-captain 
precisely,  "that  before  gun-fire  this  morning  you 
found  the  old  man  in  a  state  of  collapse  below  the 
flagstaff — is  this  so?" 

Private  Smith,  sober  to  smartness  and  smart  to 
stiffness,  saluted ;  but  there  was  an  odd  trepidation 
on  his  face.  "Yes,  sir  —  I  done  my  best  for  'im, 
sir.  I  put  'im  in  the  box,  sir,  and  give  'im  my  great- 
coat, and  I  rub  'is  'ands  and  feet,  sir.  I  done  my 
level  best  for  'im,  not  being  able,  you  see,  sir,  to 
go  off  guard.     I  couldn't  do  no  more." 

"  You  did  very  well,  my  man ;  but  if  you  had 
happened  to  have  some  stimulant  —  any  alcohol,  for 
instance." 

Private  Smith's  very  smartness  seemed  to  leave 
him  in  a  sudden  slackness  of  relief.  "  Which  it 
were  a  tot  of   rum,    sir,    as   I  'appened   to    'ave    in 


AT   THE   GREAT   DURBAR  137 

my  greatcoat  pocket.  It  done  'im  no  'arm,  sir, 
did  it?" 

The  surgeon-captain  smiled  furtively.  "It  saved 
his  life,  probably ;  but  you  might  have  mentioned 
it  before.     How  much  did  he  take  ?  " 

"  About  'arf  a  pint,  sir  —  more  nor  less."  Private 
Smith  spoke  under  his  breath  with  an  attempt  at 
regret ;  then  he  became  loquacious.  "  Beggin'  your 
pardon,  sir,  but  I  was  a  bit  on  myself,  and  'e  just 
poured  it  down  like  as  it  was  milk,  and  then  'e 
tumbled  over  and  I  thought  'e  was  dead,  and  it 
sobered  me  like.  So  I  done  my  level  best  for  'im 
all  through." 

Perhaps  he  had;  for  old  Nanuk  Singh  found  a 
comfortable  spot  in  which  to  spend  his  remaining 
days  when  the  regimental  doolie  carried  him  that 
New  Year's  morning  from  the  flagstaff  to  the  hospi- 
tal. He  lay  ill  of  rheumatic  fever  for  weeks,  and 
when  he  recovered  it  was  to  find  himself  and  his  rat 
quite  an  institution  among  the  gaunt,  listless  conva- 
lescents waiting  for  strength  in  their  long  dressing- 
gowns.  The  story  of  how  the  old  Sikh  had  drunk 
the  Queen's  health  has  assumed  gigantic  proportions 
under  Private  Smith's  care,  and  something  in  the 
humour  and  the  pathos  of  it  tickled  the  fancy  of  his 
hearers,  who,  when  the  unfailing  phrase,  "  An'  so  I 
done  my  level  best  for  him,  I  did,"  came  to  close  the 
recital,  would  turn  to  the  old  man  and  say : 


138  AT    THE    GREAT   DURBAR 

"  Pore    old   Johnny  —  an'    Gord 
wanted  with  'is  rat  and  'is  popcorn !  " 

That  was  true,  since  Nanuk  Singh  did  not  remem- 
ber even  the  name  of  his  own  village ;  and,  though 
he  still  talked  about  the  plaintiff  and  the  defendant, 
Purameshwar  and  the  State,  he  was  apparently  con- 
tent to  await  his  chance  of  a  hearing  at  another  and 
greater  durbar. 


THE   BLUE-THROATED   GOD 

We  sat  after  lunch  in  the  stern  of  the  steam 
launch  watching  the  bridge  grow  from  the  sem- 
blance of  a  caterpillar  hung  across  the  horizon  be- 
tween clusters  of  temples  and  topes,  to  that  of 
some  monstrous  skeleton  whose  vaulting  ribs  rose 
high  overhead  into  the  pale  sky. 

Bannerman  and  I  had  come  out  from  England 
together,  and  come  up-country  together;  I  to  take 
up  work  at  the  bridge,  he  on  a  sporting  tour,  with 
letters  of  introduction  to  the  chief  engineer.  We 
had  been  doing  the  sights  of  the  native  city,  and 
now,  in  company  with  several  officials  of  sorts, 
were  on  our  way  home  to  the  reaches  above.  And 
as  we  surged  through  the  yellow-brown  flood  we 
talked  vaguely  and  airily  of  old  gods  and  new,  of 
Siva's  religion  of  stern  reality,  and  Krishna's 
pleasure-loving  cult. 

"You  should  read  Prem  Sdgai\  sir,"  said  Mr. 
Chuckerbutt}^  the  native  assistant-engineer,  aside  to 
Bannerman,  who  had  given  his  vote  for  the  latter; 

139 


140  THE   BLUE-THROATED   GOD 

"  it  is  of  much  merit,  containing  the  loves  of  Krishna 
and  other  cognate  matter." 

"It's  a  mere  question  of  temperament,"  went  on 
Bannerman,  unheeding  the  interruption.  "  Some 
people  are  born  to  one  thing,  some  to  another.  I 
was  born  to  enjoy  myself —     Hullo  !  what's  that?  " 

That  was  a  low  note  like  a  bird's,  a  flash  in 
the  sunlight  beyond  the  huge  pier  along  which 
we  were  edging  our  way  up  the  current,  and  then 
a  cloop  like  a  cork. 

"Sambo,"  said  some  one. 

"His  name  is  Rudra,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Chucker- 
butty. 

"Nilkunta,!  Huzoor^'  suggested  the  captain  of 
the  launch.  I  looked  from  one  to  the  other  inter- 
rogatively. 

"The  bridge-diver,"  said  the  first  speaker,  "sees 
after  the  foundations  and  that  sort  of  thing  —  knows 
the  bottom  of  the  river  as  well  as  most  of  us  know 
the  top.  A  queer  sort  of  animal  —  there  he  is  to 
your  right." 

Out  of  the  yellow-brown  flood  a  grave  yellow- 
brown  face  crowned  by  a  curious  bi'ass  pot  not 
unlike  a  tiara,  then  two  yellow-brown  arms,  remind- 
ing me  unpleasantly  of  snakes,  curved  up  in  the 
overhead  stroke  as  the  swimmer  slipped  down  to 
where  a  rope  hung  from  one  of  the  huge  ribs.  He 
1  Blue-throated  ;  the  name  of  the  kingfisher. 


THE    BLUE-THROATED    GOD  141 

swarmecl  up  it  like  a  monkey,  to  sit  still  as  a 
carven  image  on  the  outermost  buttress  of  the  pier, 
his  legs  crossed  under  him,  his  hands  resting  on 
his  knees,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  swirling  water 
below,  so  that  the  full  eyelids  drooping  over  them 
gave  them  an  empty,  sightless  look. 

"  By  George !  "  said  Bannerman  carelessly,  "  he 
reminds  me  of  the  big  idol  over  at  the  temple. 
What's  its  name,  Chuckerbutty  ?  You're  posted 
in  such  things ;   I'm  not." 

The  assistant-engineer,  mindful  of  the  B.A.  degree 
superadded  to  his  ancestral  beliefs,  became  evasive. 

"Well,  it  doesn't  matter.  I  mean  the  brute  like 
a  land  crab  with  a  superfluity  of  arms.  The  brute 
we  were  talking  of  just  now  who  crowds  life  and 
all  its  joys  into  one  eternal  and  infernal  birth  and 
death  —  the  most  uninteresting  events  of  life  to 
my  mind." 

Bannerman  was  right.  That  figure  on  the  but- 
tress could  not  fail  to  remind  one  of  Siva,  or  Maha- 
deo,  —  the  Creator  and  the  Destroyer,  —  barring,  of 
course,  the  arms.  And  as  I  looked,  the  two  which 
the  figure  possessed  rose  slowly  from  its  knees  and 
hovered  up  in  the  oddest  fashion  above  its  head; 
then  sank  again  as  slowly,  leaving  one  with 
the  impression  of  any  number  of  circumambient 
members. 

"  Does   it  when   he    dives,"  said   a   boy  who  was 


142  THE    BLUE-THROATED    GOD 

watching  also  ;  "  must  have  thought  he  saw  something 
in  the  stream.     He  brings  up  all  sorts  of  things." 

The  notion  was  absorbing  until  Chuckerbutty's 
idiomatic  English,  in  reply  to  a  query  of  Banner- 
man's,  roused  me. 

"  Sambo  is  nickname ;  but  indubitably  verbal  cor- 
ruption of  the  Sanskrit  Samhhu^  lord  or  master. 
Rudra,  real  name,  has  equivalent  synonymous  mean- 
ing. The  most  ancient  god  mentioned  in  Rig  Veda. 
Symbolised  in  eight  attributes,  sun,  moon,  water, 
earth,  air,  fire,  ether,  and  soul  of  man.  In  other 
words,  the  visible  and  invisible  univei'se  —  as  Siva 
the  Creator,  the  Preserver,  the  Destroyer." 

Chuckerbutty  puffed  at  his  cigar  in  quite  a  Euro- 
pean fashion. 

"-  What  rot !  "  murmured  Bannerman  under  his 
breath. 

"  And  as  for  Nilkunta,"  put  in  the  boy,  "  that  is 
simple.  It  means  blue-throated,  and  Sambo  is 
tattooed  all  round." 

"  Yet  is  that  also  name  of  Siva,"  interposed  Chuck- 
erbutty with  importance.     "  As  per  Mahahliarata  — 

*  To  soften  human  ills  dread  Siva  drank 
The  poisonous  flood  Avhich  stained  his  azure  neck.' 

"Nil-kunt  is  also  sometimes  applied  to  the  bird 
kingfisher  by  Europeans ;  but  this  is  erroneous.  It 
belongs  properly " 


THE   BLUE-THROATED    GOD  143 

I  heard  no  more,  my  thoughts  being  with  that  odd 
figure  again.  It  was  certainly  a  most  extraordinary 
resemblance. 

"  Well,  if  you  really  are  going  to  fish  for  maliseer 
at  Hurdwar,  Mr.  Bannerman,  you  should  take  advan- 
tage of  that  man's  knowledge,"  said  the  chief  pom- 
pously. "  He  goes  on  leave  next  week  —  his  home  is 
somewhere  in  the  hills  —  and  he  knows  everything 
that  is  to  be  known  about  fishing." 

Bannerman  laughed.  "  Back  myself  against  him 
any  day,  even  on  the  Ganges.  I  expect  I've  as  much 
general  good  luck  —  in  every  way  —  as  any  one  in 
this  world." 

He  gave  you  that  impression.  In  addition  he  was 
eminently  handsome  —  if  a  trifle  dark  for  a  country 
where  people  fight  shy  of  any  admixture  of  blood. 
Extraordinarily  graceful  and  supple  too,  doing  every- 
thing with  extraordinary  grace  and  skill.  Beyond 
that,  rich.  For  the  rest,  cosmopolitan  in  mind  and 
manners.  As  for  morals,  that  does  not  enter  into 
the  equation  of  a  pleasant  chance  acquaintance,  and 
the  only  blemish  I  could  lay  finger  on  was  an  excess 
of  jewellery.  But  that  was  a  hobby  of  his.  He  was 
for  ever  waylaying  the  passers-by  and  wanting  to 
make  a  deal  for  their  ornaments,  regardless  of  in- 
jured feelings.  It  was  a  mere  question  of  money, 
like  everything  else,  he  asserted,  and  he  generally 
succeeded  in  getting  what  he  fancied.     Apparently 


144  THE   BLUE-THROATED    GOD 

he  fancied  Sambo,  or  Rudra,  or  Nilkunta  —  which- 
ever you  choose  to  call  him  —  for,  a  day  or  two 
afterwards,  the  man  came  to  me  clothed  in  the  loose 
garments  and  aggressive  turban  usually  worn  by 
Mohammedans.  He  looked  less  startling,  but  the 
type  of  face  was  utterly  new  to  me. 

"  I  am  a  hunter,  Huzoor,'^  he  said  gravely ;  indeed 
I  think  his  face  was  the  gravest  I  ever  saw.  "  I  kill 
to  live ;  I  live  to  kill.  That  is  all.  I  come  from 
the  mountains,  and  I  know  the  river.  Wherefore 
not,  since  it  is  my  birthplace  ?  None  know  it  as  I ; 
others  may  claim  it,  but  it  is  mine,  and  the  fish  also. 
It  is  all  one  to  Nil-kunt  the  diver,  Huzoor.  JEshspoon 
bait,  feather  fly,  or  poach-net.  I  kill  to  live  ;  I  live 
to  kill.  That  is  the  old  way,  the  best  way ;  and  if 
the  Huzoor  comes  with  '  Buniah-man '  sahib,  he  Avill 
catch  big  fish." 

"And  the  sahib  also,  I  hope?" 

"  The  sahib  thinks  he  knows,  but  he  is  a  stranger 
to  the  river  and  the  old  ways.    He  must  learn  them." 

A  week  after  this,  Bannerman  and  I  were  en- 
camped on  the  south  side  of  the  gorge  through 
which  the  sacred  river  debouches  on  the  plains, 
with  Sambo,  who  was  on  leave,  as  our  boatman. 
And  curiously  out  of  place  he  looked  in  the  Eng- 
lish-built wherry  which  my  host  had  insisted  on 
bringing  up  by  rail.  He  had  never,  he  said,  been 
able   to   stand    the    discomforts    of    a    Noah's   Ark, 


THE   BLUE-THROATED    GOD  145 

and  he  did  not  intend  to  begin  self-denial,  even 
though  he  was  in  the  birthplace  of  the  most  as- 
cetic cult  the  world  had  ever  known ;  if  indeed 
the  worshippers  of  Siva  had  right  on  their  side  in 
claiming  Hurdwar  as  Hara-dwara —  the  gate  of 
Siva.  For  his  part  he  inclined  to  the  Vaishnava 
view.  Hari-dwara^  gate  of  Vishnu,  was  just  as 
likely  a  derivation.  It  was  only  the  change  of  a 
letter;  and  yet  that  made  all  the  difference  be- 
tween believing  in  pleasure  or  penance.  He  talked 
away  in  his  reckless  fashion  about  this  as  we  fished 
fruitlessly,  the  first  evening;  fruitlessly,  for  I  was 
crippled  with  a  slight  sprain  of  the  wrist,  and  Ban- 
nerman  caught  nothing.  And  Sambo  sat  gravely 
sculling,  with  a  perfectly  immovable  face,  until 
Bannerman,  who  was  changing  his  fly  for  the 
fiftieth  time  at  least,  leant  forward  suddenlj^  and 
laid  his  hand  on  the  other's  wrist. 

"  That's  a  fine  cat's-eye,"  he  said,  looking  at  a 
ring  on  the  supple  brown  finger.  "  How  much 
will  you  take  for  it?" 

"I  do  not  sell,"  replied  Sambo,  still  without  a 
quiver  of  expression.  The  water  dropped  from  the 
upheld  oar  like  molten  gold.  I  could  hear  it  fall 
in  the  silence,  as  those  two  sat  looking  at  each 
other.  But  my  eyes  were  on  those  hands  clasped 
upon  each  other ;  they  were  extraordinarily  alike 
in  contour  and  not  far  apart  in  colour. 


14:6  THE    BLUE-THUOATED    GOD 

''  Ten  rupees !  twenty !  forty !  "  he  went  on. 
"What!  you  won't?  Here  I  let  me  see  it  closer. 
I  don't  believe  it  is  worth  more  —  even  to  me  — 
unless  I'm  mistaken.     Hand  it  over,  man ! " 

Bannerman  turned  the  ring  over  curiously,  and 
a  sudden  interest  came  to  his  face. 

"It  isn't  worth  five,  but  I've  taken  a  fancy  to 
it.     Fifty  !  a  hundred  !  a  thousand !  " 

"I  do  not  sell,"  repeated  Sambo  indifferently. 

"  Not  sell !  then  you're  a  fool !     Here,  catch  !  " 

He  spun  the  ring  like  a  coin  high  into  the  air. 
Perhaps  he  had  meant  it  to  fall  into  the  boat,  but 
it  did  not,  and  as  I  leant  over  in  dismay  I  could 
see  it  sinking  in  shimmering  circles  through  the 
sunlit  water. 

Sambo  did  not  even  seem  surprised,  but  crossing 
the  oars  leisurely  proceeded  to  strip. 

"It  does  not  matter,"  he  said  briefly.  ''Mai 
Gunga^  is  kind  to  me,  and  I  know  my  way  to 
her  bosom." 

A  minute  or  so  afterwards  he  came  up  from  the 
depths  with  the  ring  fast  held  in  his  teeth. 

"The  fish  are  lying  between  the  shallow  and 
the  deep,"  he  remarked,  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened. "  If  the  Huzoor  will  believe  me,  he  will 
catch  them." 

Apparently   the   faith   was    wanting,   for   we    did 
1  The  Ganges. 


THE   BLUE-THROATED    GOD  147 

not  see  a  fin  till  I  commenced  fishing;  and  even 
then  the  luck  was  all  with  me.  Bannerman  began 
to  grow  restive,  suggesting  that  in  a  boat  "one 
man's  sport  was  another  man's  spoil";  so  we  moved 
across  the  range  of  the  Siwaliks  to  higher  ground. 
We  pitched  our  tents  between  the  river  and  a 
backwater,  where  the  boat  —  which  despite  my 
advice  Bannerman  insisted  on  bringing  round  by 
poad  —  lay  moored  beneath  a  big  cotton  tree.  A 
desirable  resting-place  certainly;  cool  and  shadowy, 
and  haunted  by  many  a  kingfisher  busy  among  the 
shoals  of  silvery  fishlets  in  the  still  water.  Across 
the  river,  just  above  its  great  race  to  the  gorge 
below,  stood  a  group  of  Hindu  temples  backed  by 
sun-steeped  slopes  ablaze  with  flowering,  scented 
shrubs.  Further  up,  however,  the  hills  sank  almost 
to  the  level,  leaving  a  wedge  of  sky  clear,  before 
rising  again  in  swift  gradations  of  blue,  cleft  by 
a  purple  chasm  marking  the  further  course  of  the 
river  towards  the  snows  of  Kedarnath. 

"You  live  yonder,  do  you  not?"  I  asked  of 
Sambo,  pointing  to  the  peaks,  as  I  stood  settling 
my  tackle. 

For  the  first  time  a  slow  smile  showed  on  the 
man's  fine  delicate  face.  "No,  Huzoor.  I  live 
everywhere.  Wherever  there  are  things  to  kill, 
and  that  is  in  most  places.  But  not  here,  sahib," 
he   continued   hastily,  turning   to    Bannerman,  who 


148  THE   BLUE-THROATED   GOD 

was  about  to  launcli  his  minnow  into  a  likely  spot. 
"  This  pool  is  sacred  to  the  god  yonder." 

And  sure  enough,  close  to  the  water's  edge,  beneath 
the  shade  of  a  banyan  tree,  stood  a  crowned  image 
of  Maha-deo,  with  his  eight  arms,  his  necklace  of 
snakes,  and  chaplet  of  skulls. 

"Dash  it  all,"  muttered  Bannerman  impatiently, 
"as  if  the  world  were  not  full  enough  of  limita- 
tions as  it  is !  I'll  have  it  out  with  that  old  land 
crab  some  day." 

His  irritation  grew  as  the  days  passed  bringing 
continued  ill-luck.  But  what  wonder,  he  said,  when 
the  fish  were  fed  and  pampered  by  the  priests 
morning  and  evening,  that  they  would  not  take  his 
lure?  For  his  part  he  did  not  believe  there  was 
a  fin  in  any  other  pool  in  the  river  —  at  least  when 
he  fished  it. 

"  The  Huzoor  can  see,  if  he  chooses,"  said  Sambo 
gravely. 

"  I  suppose  I  can  —  as  well  as  you,  anyhow,*' 
retorted  Bannerman. 

"  Then  let  him  look."  As  he  spoke  Sambo  swung 
himself  into  the  branch  of  a  cotton  tree  which, 
swaying  with  his  weight,  scattered  its  huge  scarlet 
flowers  on  the  water.  Perhaps  it  was  this,  engen- 
dering a  hope  of  food  ;  perhaps  it  was  the  curious 
low  whistle  he  made,  but  instantly  the  calm  sur- 
face  of  the   pool   wavered,   shifted,   and  broke   into 


THE   BLUE-THROATED    GOD  149 

ripples.  Sambo  stretched  himself  full  length  on 
the  branch  and  craned  forward  with  his  long  blue 
neck. 

"  Plenty  of  them,  Huzoor  !  Beauties  !  That  one 
with  the  scar  is  full  twenty  sirs  weight.  See !  I 
will  catch  it." 

He  slid  from  the  branch  like  an  otter  to  reappear 
a  second  afterwards  with  the  fish  bent  round  his 
neck  like  a  yoke  of  silver. 

"  It  is  bad  luck,"  he  continued,  ''  and  the  Huzoor 
must  do  pifja^  to  the  great  god.  That  is  the  only 
way." 

Bannerman's  face  was  a  study,  and  to  soothe 
him  I  remarked  that  I  had  been  lucky  enough 
without  any  one's  help. 

''How  does  the  Huzoor  know?"  asked  Sambo 
boldly.  "If  he  had  been  up  by  dawn  he  might 
have  thought  otherwise,  since  the  blood  of  the 
cock  I  sacrificed  in  his  name  still  reddens  the  feet 
of  Ishwara." 

"  The  devil  you  did,"  I  exclaimed  laughing ;  "  then 
sacrifice  two  for  Bannerman  sahib  to-morrow." 

The  latter,  however,  turned  on  him  fiercely.  "  If 
you  dare,"  he  began ;  then  pulled  himself  together, 

muttered  something   about  its  being  "d d  rot," 

and  went  off  declaring  he  would  fish  no  more  till 
dusk  drove  the  glare  from  the  water. 

^  Worship. 


150  THE   BLUE-THROATED    GOD 

I  found  him  hours  after  lolling  on  his  bed,  and 
reading  a  translation  of  the  Pre^n  Sdgar.  It  was  as 
amusing  and  true  to  life  as  a  moderm  French  novel, 
he  was  pleased  to  remark,  and  Krishna  with  his 
milkmaids  the  wisest  of  gods.  In  fact  after  dinner, 
as  we  sat  smoking  outside,  he  recurred  to  the  sub- 
ject, denouncing  the  folly  of  all  ascetic  cults  from 
Baal  downwards. 

"  You  are  awfully  well  up  in  it  all,"  I  said,  sur- 
prised at  his  knowledge. 

"Seems  to  come  to  me,  to-night,  somehow,"  he 
replied  gaily  ;  "  things  do,  you  know  —  previous  state 
of  existence  and  all  that  rot.  Besides,  it's  needed 
when  a  fellow  calmly  suggests  my  making  a  blood 
offering  !  To  a  brute  of  a  land  crab  too  —  a  miser- 
able fetish  evolved  from  the  fears  of  a  semi-ape  —  a 
creature  incapable  of  rising  above  the  limitations  of 
his  own  discomfort,  counting  this  lovely  life  as  mere 
birth  and  death,  and  ignoring  the  joys  between  — 
the  only  realities  in  the  world." 

He  went  on  in  this  fashion,  till,  declaring  that  he 
meant  to  be  up  by  dawn,  both  to  catch  a  fish  and 
prevent  the  blood  sacrifice,  he  turned  in.  I  could 
hear  him  humming  the  refrain  of  a  French  song  as 
I  sat  on  the  scented  flood  of  moonlight. 

It  was  not  a  night  surely  to  waste  in  sleep !  The 
very  flowers  kept  the  memory  of  their  colours,  and 
every  now  and  again  I  could  hear  the  silvery  splash 


THE    BLUE-THROATED    GOD  151 

of  a  fish  rising  on  the  level  reaches  beyond.  Bat 
from  below  came  a  vibration  in  the  air  like  the  first 
breathing  of  an  organ  note.  That  was  the  river 
racing  to  the  gorge. 

Scarcely  knowing  what  I  did,  I  strolled  over  to 
the  backwater  which  circled  round  the  oasis  of  the 
valley.  A  fringe  of  trees  marked  its  course,  and 
behind  them  the  hill  sloped  up  in  a  tangle  of  jasmine 
and  pomegranate,  while  on  the  river  side  grew  shin- 
gle and  grass  tufted  with  oleanders.  In  the  distance, 
faint  yet  clear,  came  a  snatch  or  two  of  Banner- 
man's /?^i-(^e-si(?We  song.  And  then  suddenl}^,  round 
a  bend,  rose  the  low  note  of  a  kingfisher.  Could 
it  be  a  kingfisher  at  that  hour  of  the  night? 

By  all  the  gods,  old  and  new,  what  was  this  ? 
Sambo?  Could  that  be  Sambo  knee-deep  in  the 
water  ?  Sambo  with  a  golden  tiara  on  his  head  and 
girt  about  the  waist  with  a  regal  robe  ?  Purple  and 
red  —  at  least  you  guessed  the  colour,  just  as  you 
guessed  that  the  shadowy  pillar  of  that  long  neck 
was  blue.  Were  those  his  arms  curved  above  him, 
or  were  they  snakes,  swaying,  swaying  in  the  moon- 
light with  hooded  heads  and  open  jaws  ?  And  was 
that  cry  Sambo's  or  the  kingfisher's?  Then,  and 
not  till  then,  I  saw  the  bird  perched  on  a  branch 
above  the  strange  figure ;  and  even  as  I  looked  it 
swooped  straight  into  those  swaying  snake-like  arms, 
bearing  something  in  its  mouth. 


152  THE   BLUE-THROATED   GOD 

I  suppose  in  my  surprise  I  made  some  exclamation, 
for  the  figure  turned  quickly.  Then,  for  the  first 
time,  I  felt  sure  it  was  only  the  diver  in  his  diving 
dress.  The  next  instant  he  was  beside  me  on  the  bank, 
holding  out  a  small  land  crab  for  my  inspection. 

"  It  is  the  best  bait,  Huzoor,  Better  than  phantom 
or  eshspoon^ 

I  felt  utterly  bewildered  and  not  a  little  aggrieved 
at  his  everyday  appearance.  "But,  but,"  I  began, 
"how  the  mischief  did  you  make  the  bird? " 

His  hand  went  up  to  his  throat  as  if  in  explana- 
tion. "'Tis  the  trick  of  their  cry,  Huzoor ;  besides 
bii  '3  are  afraid  of  the  holy  snake ;  and  even  the 
Huzoor  doubted  his  own  eyes.  It  is  good  bait.  If 
Buniah-man  sahib  will  consent  to  use  it,  he  will 
have  luck." 

"Of  course  he  will  use  it,"  I  replied  angrily; 
and  then  a  sudden  doubt  seized  me.  "I  don't 
know,  though.  I  don't  seem  to  understand.  I  can't 
see " 


"  The  Huzoor  has  two  eyes,"  he  interrupted,  with 
another  of  his  slow  smiles.  "  Does  he  want  a  third, 
like  mine?" 

A  third!  Then  I  noticed  a  central  spot  on  his 
forehead  set  in  an  oval  of  white.  In  good  sooth 
it  was  not  unlike  a  third  eye  placed  upright  be- 
tween the  others.  I  had  seen  similar  ones  painted 
on  the  images  of  Siva. 


THE   BLUE-THKOATED   GOD  153 

"'Tis  but  a  caste  sign,  Huzoor^^  he  explained; 
"I  wear  it  sometimes."  He  stooped  as  lie  spoke, 
gathered  some  dust  in  his  fingers  and  rubbed  out 
the  mark.  ''  Lo !  it  grows  late.  Midnight  is  past. 
If  the  Huzoor  rises  with  the  sun  'tis  time  he  slept." 

True  enough ;  but  as  I  strolled  homewards  to 
the  tent  my  eyes  fell  by  chance  on  the  shade  be- 
neath the  great  banyan  tree  where  the  idol  stood. 
The  plinth  was  empty !  It  lay  reflected  in  the 
water  vacant,  bare  !  Scarcely  knowing  what  I  did, 
or  why  I  did  it,  I  ran  back  to  where  I  had  left 
Sambo,  calling  him  by  all  his  names  in  turn.  But 
there  was  no  answer,  and  when  in  hopeless  bewilder- 
ment I  retraced  my  steps  it  was  only  to  find  myself 
mistaken.  The  eight-armed  image  stood  in  its  ac- 
customed place,  reflected  in  the  still  water. 

I  was  glad  when  the  dawn  came ;  one  of  those 
lemon-coloured  dawns  when  the  sky  grows  light 
at  once. 

"  Had  the  jolliest  dreams,"  said  Bannerman,  com- 
ing out  of  his  tent.  "  Dreamt  I  was  Krishna  among 
the  milkmaids.  Wish  I  could  find  one  in  this  fish- 
forsaken  place,  I'd Hullo,  what  the  mischief  is 

that  on  my  line?" 

It  was  Sambo's  land  crab  neatly  impaled  on  a 
Stuart  tackle.  I  began  an  explanation  only  to  stop 
short  at  the  —  to  me  —  absolutely  incomprehensible 
intensity   of    both    the   faces    before    me.     Dimly   I 


154  THE   BLUE-THKOATED   GOD 

seemed  to  recognise  the  situation  and  then  it  es- 
caped me  again. 

"  Tomfoolery !  One  might  as  well  fish  with  that 
ridiculous  fetish  at  once,"  came  Bannerman's  jeer- 
ing voice.  "What  was  it  Chuckerbutty  drivelled 
about  ?  eight  attributes  —  tall  order  for  any  god ! 
Weill  here  they  go.  No,  Sambo,  you  may  keep 
one  —  the  soul  of  a  man,  if  there  be  such  a 
thing " 

He  had  torn  off  five  of  the  crab's  legs,  leaving 
three ;  two  of  them  the  nipping  claws,  which,  with 
gaping  jaws,  swayed  about  seeking  reprisals. 

"  There !  take  your  offering,  Siva !  snakes,  and 
souls,  and  all ! "  He  flung  the  maimed  creature 
full  in  the  idol's  face  as  we  sculled  past  it.  I  shall 
never  forget  Sambo's  look. 

"You  shouldn't  do  that  sort  of  thing,"  I  remon- 
strated in  a  low  voice.  "  If  the  priests  saw  it ;  — 
then  this  man " 

"  Bah !  Nilkunta  won't  mind,  and  rupees  will 
settle  anything."  I  tried  to  make  him  understand 
they  would  not  in  these  fastnesses  of  the  Hindu 
faith,  but  almost  immediately  afterwards  his  atten- 
tion wandered  to  a  woman's  figure  which,  as  we 
rowed  up  the  river,  was  outlined  equally  against 
earth  and  sky,  while  figure,  earth,  and  sky  shared 
equally  the  perfect  reflection   in  the  water. 

"  By  George,  a  milkmaid  I "   he    cried.     She  was 


THE   BLUE-THROATED    GOD  155 

not  unlike  one  in  dress,  certainly,  but  her  face, 
marked  with  the  crescent  of  Siva  on  the  forehead, 
was  of  a  different  type ,  beautiful  too,  and  Banner- 
man  simply  couldn't  take  his  eyes  off  her. 

"Who  is  she?  Who  can  she  be?  Sambo! 
Rudra!  Nilkunta !  whichever  you  are  —  do  you 
know  who  she  can  be?"  he  queried  in  hot  excite- 
ment. 

"She  is  somebody's  house,  Hiizoor.'''  The  voice 
was  cold  as  an  icicle. 

"  Somebody's  house !  What  a  way  to  mention  a 
woman,  beautiful — beautiful  as  —  but  it's  the  old 
Puritanical  game  !  A  house  —  a  hearth  mother  — 
the  British  matron  in  Eastern  disguise  —  Mrs. 
Grundy  in  a  sdri.  I  say,  Nil-kunt,  whose  house  do 
you  think  she  is  ?    I  should  like  to  buy  the  freehold." 

"  She  is  your  slave's  house,"  replied  the  man  with- 
out a  wink. 

"  The  dickens  she  is,"  blurted  out  my  companion, 
somewhat  abashed  for  the  time.  Perhaps  that  was 
Sambo's  intention.  At  any  rate  I  have  no  means  of 
knowing  if  he  spoke  the  truth  or  not.  Indeed,  look- 
ing back  on  it  all,  I  scarcely  seem  to  know  what 
really  happened,  and  what  must  have  been  sheer 
fancy.  Only  this  remains  clear ;  a  growing  antago- 
nism between  these  two,  a  growing  disinclination  on 
Bannerman's  part  to  do  anything  but  lounge  away 
his  days. 


156  THE    BLUE-THROATED    GOD 

"Can't  help  it,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  would  say, 
''it's  the  air,  or  something.  If  I  had  a  shepherd's 
pipe  I'd  play  it.  And  as  for  flowers !  Do  you  know 
some  one  puts  a  bunch  of  them  on  my  pillow  every 
night.     I  believe  it's  the  milkmaid  ! " 

There  were  flowers,  too,  garlanded  round  his  door, 
while  just  over  the  way  those  ominous  splashes  of 
red  on  Ishwara's  feet  seemed  to  grow  deeper  and 
deeper. 

At  last  I  put  the  case  baldly  and  crudely  before 
him.  Something  was  going  on  which  I  didn't  under- 
stand, which  might  get  him  into  mischief  at  any 
moment,  and  I  appealed  to  his  good  sense  to  put  the 
Siwaliks  between  him  and  a  temptation  which  seemed 
to  have  fascinated  him.  He  laughed,  admitted  the 
fact,  and  yielded ;  the  more  readily  because  our  time 
was  almost  up. 

For  the  first  two  days  he  was  rewarded  by  success 
in  the  lower  reaches;  possibly  —  since  fish  shy  at 
novelty  —  because  we  used  a  native  Noah's  Ark,  our 
own  boat  remaining  in  the  backwater  till  we  could 
send  coolies  to  fetch  it.  On  the  third  he  left  the 
river  early  on  plea  of  a  headache.  As  he  had  been 
in  wild  spirits  all  day,  quoting  the  Prem  Sdgar  and 
singing  French  songs,  I  half  thought  he  was  going 
in  for  fever,  the  day  being  exceptionally  hot.  But 
on  my  return  at  dusk  the  servants  asked  if  I  would 
wait  dinner  for  the  sahib  or  not.     Beset  by  immedi- 


THE   BLUE-THROATED    GOD  157 

ate  misgivings  I  rushed  into  his  tent,  where  I  found 
a  slip  of  paper  impaled  like  a  bait  on  some  tackle 
lying  on  the  table. 

"  Off  to  the  divine  milkmaid !  Don't  wait.  Vogue 
la  gale  re  !  " 

"  How  far  ?  "  I  asked  Sambo  breathlessly. 

"  Twenty  kos  by  the  road  —  the  sahib  borrowed 
the  police  inspector's  mare  —  not  half  that  over  the 
hills.  But  the  moon  is  late,  and  the  snakes  love  the 
dark." 

If  it  had  been  the  darkness  of  Egypt  I  had  no 
choice  but  to  follow,  and  half  an  hour  afterwards  I 
was  stumbling  along  after  Sambo.  Even  by  day- 
light the  hills,  heat-cracked,  rain-seared,  strewn  with 
sharp  rocks,  were  bad  walking  ;  on  a  dark,  hot  night, 
with  the  snakes'  eyes  gleaming  from  the  stones, 
they  were  horrible  —  most  horrible.  The  straight 
fingers  of  the  stiff  candelabra  bushes  pointing  up  and 
up,  the  gnarled  stunted  trees  growing  into  strange 
shapes,  reminding  one  involuntarily  of  those  antedi- 
luvian animals  whose  bones  lie  buried  all  along  the 
Siwaliks.  A  cold  sweat  of  suspense  lay  upon  my 
forehead  despite  the  scorching  blast  tearing  down 
the  ravines ;  scorching  yet  laden  with  the  scent  of 
earth,  as  from  a  new-made  grave. 

"  There  has  been  rain  in  the  hills  beyond,"  said 
Sambo's  voice  out  of  the  dark.  I  lost  sight  of  him 
constantly,  and  at  the  best  of   times   he    was   little 


158  THE    BLUE-THllOATED    GOD 

more  than  another  weird  shape  among  the  shadows. 
''  Holy  Maha-deo  !  Have  a  care,  Huzoor  !  Let  the 
snake  pass  in  peace!  " 

As  he  spoke  something  curved  over  my  instep. 
Such  things  take  the  nerve  out  of  a  European ;  but 
I  stumbled  on,  peering  into  the  darkness,  trying  to 
think  of  Bannerman's  danger,  and  not  of  that  next 
step  and  Avhat  it  might  bring.  But  it  came  at  last 
—  just  as  we  dipped  into  a  cooler,  moister  glen, 
where  I  could  hear  the  flying  foxes  hovering  from 
tree  to  tree  —  a  slither  of  the  foot,  and  then  a  spiral 
coil  up  my  leg  gripping  the  muscles  tight.  My 
shriek  echoed  from  the  heat-hardened,  resounding 
rocks  until  the  whole  hillside  seemed  peopled  by  my 
fear;  and  even  when  Sambo,  stooping  down,  un- 
coiled the  snake  and  threw  it  into  the  darkness, 
I  could  scarcely  realise  that  I  was  none  the  worse 
for  having  put  my  heel  on  a  viper's  head.  My 
nerve  seemed  gone,  I  could  not  move  except  at  a 
snail's  pace. 

''  Time  speeds,"  came  Sambo's  voice  again.  "  The 
moon  rises  but  the  clouds  gather.  If  the  Huzoor 
would  only  not  mind " 

"  I'd  mind  nothing  if  I  could  see  —  see  as  you 
seem  to  do,"  I  muttered,  ashamed  yet  aggrieved. 

''That  is  it,"  he  replied,  "the  Huzoor  cannot  see, 
and  the  holy  snakes  do  not  know  him  as  they  know 
me.    If  the  sahib  will  let  me  put  the  caste  mark  on 


THE    BLUE-THROATED    GOD  159 

his  forehead  as  it  is  on  mine  he  need  not  fear.  It 
can  do  no  harm,  HuzoorT 

True ;  besides  the  very  idea  by  suggesting  confi- 
dence might  restore  it. 

"Lest  the  dust  should  fall  into  the  Huzoor^s 
eyes,"  said  the  voice  softly,  and  I  felt  long  thin 
fingers  on  my  eyelids ;  then  something  on  my  fore- 
head, cold  and  hard*,  cold  and  hard  like  a  ring 

The  effect  of  such  pressure  when  the  eyes  are  closed 
is  always  confusing,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  was  dozing  off 
when  the  same  soft  voice  roused  me. 

"  The  Huzoor  can  see  now." 

I  opened  my  eyes  with  a  start  as  if  from  sleep. 
Had  the  moon  risen  or  whence  came  that  pale  light 
by  which  I  saw  —  what  did  I  not  see  ?  Everything, 
surely,  that  had  been  created  since  the  world  began ; 
the  tiny  Avatersprites  in  the  half-stagnant  pools,  the 
flying  motes  in  the  dim  air.  Or  did  I  dream  it? 
Did  I  only  feel  and  know  that  they  were  there,  part 
of  those  endless,  endless  seons  of  life  and  death  in 
which  I  was  a  unit. 

"  Sambo,"  I  gasped  feebly,  but  there  was  no 
answer.  Where  was  I?  By  degrees  memory  re- 
turned. This  must  be  the  Gayatri  glen,  for  there,  at 
the  further  end,  stood  the  great  image  of  the  dread 
Maha-deo  where  the  pilgrims  worshipped ;  and 
surely  the  odd  light  came  from  that  gleaming  cat's- 
eye  on  its  forehead?     Surely,  too,  the  snakes  curled 


160  THE   BLUE-THROATED    GOD 

and  swayed,  the  outstretched  hands  opened  and 
shut?  My  own  went  up  to  my  forehead  in  my 
bewilderment,  when,  suddenly,  the  light  seemed  to 
fade,  till  I  could  just  see  Nilkunta's  blue  throat  as 
he  stood  beside  me. 

"  The  Huzoor  has  scratched  his  forehead ;  the 
blood  trickles  from -it.  See,  I  have  brouglit  a  tulsi 
leaf.  There !  that  is  better."  I  felt  the  coolness 
between  my  eyes,  and  something  of  my  bewilder- 
ment seemed  to  pass  away. 

"It  is  the  Gayatri,  Huzoor^  and  yonder  is  Maha- 
deo.  He  is  but  half-way,  so  we  must  press  on. 
The  sahib  can  see  now ;    there  is  no  fear." 

None.  Yet  did  I  see  them,  or  was  I  only  con- 
scious of  that  teeming  life  in  the  jungles  ?  Of  the 
tiger  crouching  by  our  path,  the  snakes  slipping 
from  it,  the  deer  standing  to  watch  us,  and  strangest 
of  all,  those  shapes  hiding  in  the  dim  shadows  — 
undreamt-of  monsters,  neither  fish,  flesh,  nor  fowl? 
Was  it  a  dream  ?  or  —  the  idea  brought  a  faint  hys- 
terical laugh  —  was  it  the  Zoological  Gardens  and 
the  British  Museum  rolled  into  one  ? 

"  We  must  cross  the  river,  Huzoor^^  said  the  dim 
form  flitting  before  me ;  "  Buniah-man  sahib  will 
have  taken  the  boat." 

I  suppose  it  was  the  usual  rope  bridge  swung 
across  the  narrowing  chasm  of  the  river,  but  it 
seemed  to  me  that   night   as   if   I    walked   on   air. 


THE   BLUE-THROATED    GOD  161 

Below  me,  not  ten  feet  from  the  lowest  curve  of 
the  loop,  was  the  Ganges,  wrinkled  and  seamed, 
slipping  giddily  eastwards :  overhead,  a  stream  of 
clouds  speeding  eastwards  also. 

"She  rises  fast,"  muttered  Sambo.  '•^ Mai  Gunga 
is  in  a  hurry  to-night." 

The  whole  world  was  in  a  hurry.  I  seemed  to 
hear  flying  feet  keeping  time  with  our  own.  Not 
an  instant's  pause  was  there  even  for  breath  until 
we  reached  the  last  declivity  above  the  little  oasis 
of  the  valley.  The  moon  had  risen,  but  the  clouds 
hurrying  across  her  face  gave  greater  uncertainty 
to  the  scene ;  still  I  could  see  a  woman's  figure 
standing  with  widespread  arms  by  the  edge  of  the 
rising  river.  I  could  see  a  man  sending  a  boat 
across  the  shallows  with  mighty  strokes.  And 
above  the  growing  rush  of  the  water  I  could  hear  two 
murmuring  voices,  which  seemed  to  fill  the  world 
with  soft  antagonism.  "  Ooina!  Oomaf'  from  the 
hills  ;  "  Rddha  !  Rcidha  !  "  from  the  valley.  These 
were  calling  to  the  woman,  and,  as  in  a  dream,  I 
seemed  to  remember  and  understand ;  Radha,  the 
queen  of  pleasure ;  Ooma,  the  mother  of  the  uni- 
verse.    Krishna's  mistress,  and  Siva's  wife ! 

I  looked  round  for  Sambo.  He  was  gone  ;  so  I 
ran  on  alone  feeling  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost. 
:\[y  foot  slipped  and  I  fell  heavily.  But  I  was  up 
again   in   a    second    unhurt,  save,  perhaps,  for   that 


162  THE   BLUE-THROATED    GOD 

scratch  on  my  forehead,  whence  I  could  feel  the 
blood  flowing  as  I  dashed  into  the  shadow  of  the 
banyan  tree.  Merciful  heaven !  what  was  this  ?  A 
glare  as  of  noonday,  and  two  radiant  forms  with  a 
cowering  woman  between  them  !  between  the  chap- 
lets  of  skulls  and  the  chaplets  of  flowers.  And 
behind  them  was  an  empty  plinth !  P>efore  I  had 
time  to  realise  what  I  saw,  came  shouts  and  cries, 
a  melee  and  a  scuftle.  Armed  men  ran  out  of  the 
shadows,  and  then  Sambo's  voice  was  insistent, ''  Run, 
sahib,  run  I  'Tis  your  only  chance.  The  boat  — 
tlie  boat ! "  Then  some  one  hit  me  over  the  head 
from  behind,  and  when  I  came  to  myself  I  was 
lying  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  Bannerman  was 
standing  beside  me  shaking  his  fist  impotently  at 
the  twinkling  lights  on  the  bank,  and  Sambo  sat 
aft  steering  as  best  he  could  ;  for  the  oars  had  gone 
and  we  were  racing  with  the  flood  towards  the 
rapids.  They  had  bound  up  my  head  with  some- 
thing, but  I  still  felt  stunned,  and  the  rush  of  the 
rising  river  surged  in  my  ears  through  the  thin 
planks  as  I  lay.  So  perhaps  it  was  only  my  fancy 
that  those  two  sat  talking,  talking,  arguing,  arguing, 
about  the  old,  old  problems. 

Till  suddenly  I  sat  up  to  the  clear  sound  of 
Sambo's  voice. 

"  It  is  not  to  be  done,  Huzoor.  We  are  in  the 
hands  of  fate.  If  death  comes,  it  will  come,  but  it 
will  end  in  birth." 


THE   BLUE-THROATED    GOD  163 

The  answer  was  that  half-jeering  laugh  I  knew 
so  well.  "  I'll  chance  it,  Nil-kunt ;  I  don't  believe 
you." 

Bannerman  had  stripped  to  the  skin,  and  stood 
forward  looking  at  the  narrowing  rush  of  the  river. 
I  could  see  the  great  logs  of  wood,  swept  from 
the  hill-forests  above,  dancing  along  beside  us  on  the 
curved  surface  of  the  stream  —  so  curved  by  the 
very  force  of  the  current  that  as  our  boat,  steered 
by  Sambo's  skill,  kept  the  centre,  the  dim  banks 
slid  past  below  us.  Across  them,  just  ahead,  a 
curved  thread  not  four  feet,  now  the  flood  had 
risen,  above  the  water.  The  rope  bridge !  Then  I 
understood. 

"Don't!"  I  cried  feebly.  "No  man  —  can  — 
withstand  the  force  —  of  the  stream." 

He  crooked  his  knees  beneath  the  thwarts  and 
held  up  his  arms. 

"  Don't "  I  cried  again. 

The  boat  slackened  for  an  instant ;  for  an  instant 
only.  Then  it  shot  on,  leaving  Bannerman  cling- 
ing to  the  rope  —  shot  on  round  the  bend,  leaving 
him  hanging  there  between  birth  and  death.  But 
Sambo  never  took  his  watchful  eyes  off  those  merry, 
dancing  logs,  which  meant  destruction. 

The  horror  of  it  all  was  too  much.  I  fainted. 
When  consciousness  returned.  Sambo,  grave  and 
composed,  was   bending   over   me.     We  were   drift- 


164  THE   BLUE-THROATED    GOD 

ing  fast  into  the  backwater  before  my  own  bungalow, 
and  behind  us,  looking  spectral  in  the  iii'st  glint 
of  dawn,  lay  the  great  bridge,  the  flare  of  the 
watch-fires  on  its  piers  telling  of  the  severity  of 
the  flood. 

"  The  Suzoor  is  at  home,"  said  the  man  quietly ; 
''if  Buniah-man  sahib  had  taken  my  advice  he  would 
have  been  at  home  also." 

We  had  been  a  whole  day  and  night  on  the 
river ;  but  he  seemed  no  more  fatigued  than  I, 
who  had  escaped  all  the  suspense.  For  the  rest, 
no  trace  remained  of  the  adventure  save  an  oval 
scratch  on  my  forehead  surrounding  the  faint  ves- 
tiges of  something  like  an  eye. 

"  It  is  the  mark  of  Siva,"  said  my  servant  piously 
—  he  had  come  down  with  haste  by  rail  to  bring 
the  news  of  my  death  — "  doubtless  he  took  the 
Huzoor  under  his  protection ;  for  which  I  will  offer 
a  blood  oblation  without  delay." 

Bannerman's  body  was  never  found ;  but  some 
months  after,  when  I  was  inspecting  foundations, 
I  heard  the  kingfisher's  cry,  and  the  familiar  cloop 
of  a  dive  at  the  further  side  of  the  pier.  Then 
Sambo,  Rudra,  Nilkunta  —  whatever  you  please  to 
call  him  —  showed  his  yellow-brown  face  above  the 
yellow-brown  flood  bearing  a  ring  in  his  mouth: 
a  Palais  Royal  affair  —  two  diamond  hearts  trans- 
fixed by  a  ruby  arrow. 


THE    BLUE-THKOATED    GOD  165 

I  had  seen  Bannerman  wear  it  a  hundred  times, 
but  I  had  never  seen  the  inscription  engraved  inside. 

"  Thy  Hps,  oh  !  beloved  Life,  are  nectar." 

It   was   a  quotation    from  the    KrisJma  or  Prem 
Sdgar ! 


A   TOURIST   TICKET  1 

"Dost  forget,  brother,  that  it  is  the  Fast?"  said 
Raheem,  as  with  gentle,  determined  hand  he  pushed 
the  leaf-cnp  of  sweets  further  from  the  board  on 
which  his  tools  lay.  There  were  not  many  of  them, 
though  the  inlaid  work  upon  the  sandal-wood  comb 
he  was  making  showed  delicate  as  lace.  It  suited 
the  delicate  hands  employed  upon  it;  in  a  way  also 
it  suited  the  delicate  brain  behind  the  high  narrow 
forehead,  which  had  a  look  of  ill-health  about  the 
temples,  where  the  thick,  coarse,  black  hair  was  also 
delicately  streaked  with  silver ;  sure  sign,  in  a  land 
where  grayness  is  long  deferred,  of  a  troubled  body 
or  mind.  Raheem  had  barely  touched  middle  age ; 
in  his  case  the  trouble  seemed  to  be  in  both  body 
and  mind,  to  judge  by  his  hollow  eyes  and  the  ex- 
pression in  them  as  they  rested  on  a  younger  man, 
wlio  sat,  as  a  visitor,  on  the  plinth  of  the  comb- 
maker's  shop.  His  feet  were  in  the  gutter,  and  his 
handsome  head  was  nodding  gaily  to  various  ac- 
quaintances in  the  steady  stream  of  passers-by;  for 
the  odd  little  shop  was  wedged  into  the  outer  angle 
1  Copyright,  1895,  by  Macmillaii  &  Co. 
166 


A   TOURIST   TICKET  167 

of  a  sharp  bend  in  the  narrow  bazaar,  so  that  as 
Raheem  sat  workmg  at  his  scented  combs  he  could 
see  both  ways  —  could  see  all  the  world,  coming 
and  going,  from  dawn  till  dark. 

Hoshyar  laughed,  nodding  his  handsome  head 
once  more :  "  Yea !  I  forgot  that  thou  dost  fast 
for  both  of  us,  and  pray  for  both  of  us.  Mayhap 
in  the  end,  brother,  thou  mayest  have  to  go  to 
Paradise  for  both  of  us,  despite  all  thy  pains." 

The  busy  hand  ceased  to  work  in  a  gesture  of 
negation.  "  Say  not  such  things,  Hoshyar.  We  go 
together,  or  go  not  at  all.  Thou  knowest  that  was 
my  promise  to  the  dead." 

Hoshyar  ate  another  comfit  before  replying  with 
a  shrug  of  the  shoulders :  "  'Twas  not  on  stamped 
paper,  though,  and  promises  are  naught  nowadays 
without  it.  'Tis  bad  policy  to  be  over-pious,  brother. 
As  all  know,  the  saint's  beard  goes  in  relics,  and  to 
tell  truth,  I  would  be  better  pleased  to  leave  Paradise 
to  those  who  wish  for  it.  The  world  suits  me.  I 
was  not  born  to  be  religious,  as  thou  wert." 

The  comb-maker  looked  at  him  with  a  sort  of 
perplexed  patience.  "  God  knows  His  own  work," 
he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  The  Potter  makes  ;  the 
World  fills.  I  remember  when  thou  first  wentest 
to  school,  Hoshyar,  how  thou  didst  weep  because 
it  prevented  thee  from  prayer-time.  And  at  the 
festivals,  —  dost  remember,    brother,    thou    hadst   a 


168  A    TOURIST    TICKET 

little   coat   of   brocade?      Mother   cut   it  from   our 

father's  old  one  she  cherished  so " 

"  Old  tales,  old  tales  I "  interrupted  Hoshyar, 
rising  with  another  shrug  of  his  shoulders.  "If 
thou  hadst  wished  me  to  continue  in  them,  why 
didst  send  me  to  school  to  learn  new  ones  ?  Why 
didst  not  make  me  a  comb-carver  instead  of  a  clerk  ? 
Then  might  I  have  saved  money,  as  thou  hast,  gone 
on  the  great  pilgrimage,  as  thou  hast,  and  worn  a 

green  turban  like  thine  to  show  it,  as  thou  dost " 

A  sharp  spasm  of  pain  swept  over  the  older  man's 
face,  but  there  was  anger  also  in  his  voice.  "As 
thou  wouldst  have  done  also,  clerk  though  thou  art, 

if " 

"  Yea,  I  know,  I  know !  "  interrupted  Hoshyar 
impatiently ;  "  if  I  had  not  emptied  the  bag  so 
often.  But  'tis  a  pity  to  let  money  lie  idle.  And 
that  time  when  thou  hadst  the  sum  needed  for  the 
journey,  I  would  have  gone.     I  meant  to  have  gone, 

I  swear  it ;  but  the  leave  failed,  and  thou  wouldst 

not,  surely,  have  had  me  give  up  my  post  ?     Then, 
ere  the  leave  came,  the  money  had   gone   instead. 

I  can  never  keep  it  lying  idle,  and  so " 

Raheem's  anger  faded,  leaving  nothing  but  the 
pain.  What  use  was  there  in  finishing  the  sentence, 
in  reproaching  the  sinner  with  having  done  far  worse 
than  let  good  money  lie  idle?  The  fact  only  made 
the  pilgrimage  a  greater  necessity  than  ever,  if  Nakir 


A   TOURIST   TICKET  169 

and.  iMiinkir,  the  recording  angels,  were  to  be  bribed 
to  leniency.  "Thou  shalt  have  the  green  turban 
yet,"  he  said  quietly,  "if  thou  wilt  have  patience. 
But  my  combs  are  not  like  Peera's  over  the  way : 
he  makes  a  dozen  to  my  one ;  ay,  and  sells  them, 
too,  for  folk  buy  ever  the  cheapest  thing,  nowadays, 
even  for  an  Eed-offering."  ^ 

There  was  almost  an  incredulous  wonder  in  his 
voice  as  he  went  on  working,  while  Hoshyar  stood 
kicking  one  patent-leather  shoe  viciously  against  a 
loose  brick  in  the  pavement.  "And  in  the  mean- 
time the  future  pilgrim  must  live,"  he  remarked 
jestingly,  as  if,  even  to  his  effrontery,  it  was  easier 
to  treat  what  he  had  to  say  thus,  than  in  earnest. 
"So  if  thou  couldst  spare  a  rupee  or  two  from 
the  bag,  Raheem " 

His  brother's  eyes  looked  up,  full  of  reproach.  "  I 
know  what  thou  wouldst  say,"  he  went  on  pettishly. 
"  I  have  had  more  than  my  share  this  month ;  but 
I  need  it  sorely.  The  skinflints  at  the  ofiice  have 
cut  my  pay  for  being  late,  —  as  if  I  could  help  the 
tramcar  passing  full  five  minutes  before  its  time,  — 
so  I  had  to  walk.  And  then  the  mixed  train,  which 
is  ever  an  hour  late,  chose  to  be  punctual ;  so  there 
was  none  to  receive  the  waybills."  He  paused,  and 
seeing  the  doubt  on  Raheem's  face,  continued:  "As 
for  the  combs,  if  thou  hast  difficulty  in  selling,  I 
1  Equivalent  to  onr  Easter. 


170  A   TOURIST   TICKET 

might  try.  That  one  thou  madest  last  with  jasmine 
flowers  in  ivory,  —  'tis  a  deft  piece  of  work,  and  I 
know  one  who  might  buy  it." 

"  Not  Yasmeena  ?  "  asked  Raheem,  his  face  harden- 
ing, despite  the  girl-like  flush  which  came  to  it. 

Hoshyar  laughed  uneasily.  ''  Thou  hast  Yas- 
meena on  thy  brain,  brother.  She  is  no  worse  than 
others  of  her  trade,  and  that  will  last  till  all  men 
are  of  thy  way  of  thinking.  Yasmeena  I  Nay,  thou 
knowest  she  hath  not  the  money  to  pay  for  such 
costly  gew-gaws,  for  she  is  not  as  the  others,  now  ; 
she  is  not  to  be  bought  or  sold  herself." 

A  man  more  of  the  world  than  Raheem,  noting 
the  change  of  tone  in  the  last  words,  would  have  au- 
gured much  of  Yasmeena's  power  over  the  speaker ; 
but  the  comb-maker  was  too  simple  for  such  wisdom. 
"If  she  buys  it  not,  well  and  good,"  he  replied,  relax- 
ing his  frown;  "but  I  will  lend  myself  to  no  truck 

between  thee  and  her.     And  as  for  the  rupees " 

He  sighed,  yet  there  was  no  hesitation  in  the  hands 
which  began  to  unlock  a  brass-bound  box  lying  be- 
side his  board.  "  Thou  wouldst  rise  earlier,  brother," 
he  continued,  almost  tenderly,  as  he  counted  three 
rupees  from  a  little  bag  into  the  outstretched  palm 
awaiting  the  gift,  "if  thou  wouldst  sleep  a  little 
earlier  also.  Lo !  I  sleep  and  wake  with  the  birds, 
since  my  work  must  be  of  the  light." 

It   streamed  full  upon   him    and   his    tools   as  he 


A   TOURIST    TICKET  171 

spoke,  a  pale  gold  flame  of  sunshine,  searching  for 
each  flaw,  each  failure. 

"  Coulclst  not  make  it  five,  Raheem?"  came  the 
sordid  voice.     "That  is  bare  bread." 

The  flame  of  the  sunshine  had  found  a  resting- 
place  in  Raheem's  eyes  as  he  looked  at  the  beggar 
from  head  to  foot.  "  And  this  is  salvation,"  he 
replied,  dropping  the  bag  back  into  the  box  with  a 
chink,  and  turning  the  key  upon  it. 

Salvation !  Yes ;  that  is  what  it  really  meant  to 
Raheem.  It  meant  salvation  for  one  soul ;  but  for 
which?  After  his  brother  had  gone  he  asked  him- 
self this  question  for  the  hundredth  time,  asked  it 
almost  feverishly.  Ought  he  to  trust  to  the  chance? 
Was  it  likely  that  he  would  have  time  ere  his  life 
ended  —  that  life  which  had  always  been  so  uncer- 
tain—  to  make  provision  for  both  himself  and 
Hoshyar  in  death?  It  would  not  do  to  trust 
Hoshyar  with  the  money.  He,  Raheem,  must  make 
the  pilgrimage  for  him ;  and  was  it  likely  when  the 
rupees  came  so  slowly  and  went  so  fast  that  the 
hoard  in  the  bag  would  be  complete  for  years? 
Ought  he  not  then  to  make  over  —  as  according  to 
the  canon,  he  could  do  if  he  chose  —  the  virtue  of 
that  past  pilgrimage  to  his  brother,  and  take  the  risk 
of  the  coming  one  upon  himself  ?  Hoshyar  needed 
virtue  sorely,  and  yet  the  very  thought  of  going 
forth  to  the  Judgment-Seat  without  the  panoply  in 


172  A   TOURIST   TICKET 

Avliich  for  long  years  he  had  found  peace  and  shelter 
was  a  terror  to  Raheem.  Could  he  do  it?  Nay,  it 
was  too  much ;  and  yet,  —  if  that  promise  to  the 
dead  were  broken  wilfully,  —  what  good  would 
imputed  righteousness  be  before  the  Throne? 

And  meanwhile  Hoshyar  his  brother,  a  clerk  in 
the  railway,  sat  smoking  a  vile  cigar  at  the  feet  of 
Yasmeena,  who,  lounging  on  a  string  bed,  was  draw- 
ing the  scented  sandal-wood  comb,  inlaid  with  the 
flowers  whose  name  she  bore,  through  her  sleek  hair. 
"  Give  it  me,  beloved,"  she  said  scornfully ;  "  then 
thy  promise  to  the  saint  will  be  secure.  I  must  have 
it ;  'tis  the  prettiest  in  the  bazaar ;  even  Gulanari, 
with  all  her  airs,  has  not  its  marrow.  See,  I  will  sell 
it  to  her  when  I  tire  of  it,  and  then  thou  canst  give 
back  his  three  rupees  to  the  miser.  Three  rupees ! 
I  shall  spend  that  in  a  day.  And  Monday  is  the 
Eed.     I  must  have  a  new  gown  for  it,  or " 

She  did  not  finish  her  sentence,  but  her  look  was 
eloquent ;  and  Hoshyar,  as  he  lay  awake  that  night, 
her  meaning  driven  home  by  hints  of  coming  cold- 
ness, racked  his  brains  for  some  means  of  procuring 
the  dress.  Raheem  meanwhile  lay  awake  also,  think- 
ing of  a  very  different  costume ;  of  a  robe  of  right- 
eousness, a  wedding-garment.  Those  three  rupees 
given  to  Hoshyar  had  been  meant  for  an  Eed-offer- 
ing,  the  Eed  which  drew  so  near.  There  was  no 
time  to  earn  more.     Should  he  go  empty-handed  to 


A    TOURIST   TICKET  173 

give  thanks  for  the  added  virtue  of  having  been 
granted  life  to  keep  the  Great  Fast,  or  should  he 
offer  up  his  pilgrimage  by  making  it  over  once  and 
for  all  to  his  brother? 

Hoshyar  had  been  asleep  for  hours,  and  the  spar- 
rows were  astir  ere  Raheem  found  any  answer.  He 
would  wait  another  day,  he  told  himself,  before  de- 
ciding ;  so  he  sat  in  the  sunlight  seeking  perfection 
in  his  delicate  curves  and  lines,  while  the  pale  gold 
rays  peeped  and  pryed  for  flaws  and  failures. 

''  Have  you  a  comb  like  that,  finished  ?  "  asked  a 
foreign  voice,  making  him  raise  his  head  and  salamn 
hopefully. 

"None  so  good,  Huzoor ;  but  I  have  others." 
He  took  them  from  the  brass-bound  box  and 
waited;  then  noting  the  Englishman's  look,  said 
wistfully:  "I  had  one  yesterday,  but  it,  —  it  is 
gone.  I  could  finish  this  one  quickly  for  the 
Huzoor  if,  — if  he  pleased."  There  was  a  catch  in 
his  breath.  If  he  could  sell  something,  surely  he 
might  keep  salvation  a  little  longer. 

"Can  you  finish  it  by  Monday  evening?" 

It  would  mean  working  extra  hours,  mean  work- 
ing through  the  Festival  when  all  the  world 
rested;  but  what  was  that  in  comparison  with  the 
reward?  Ten  minutes  afterwards  Raheem  was 
putting  three  rupees  into  the  bag.  He  had  sold 
out    his    stock,    and,   still   more    wonderful,   had   a 


174  A   TOURIST   TICKET 

promise  of  twenty  rupees  more  on  account  for 
future  work  if  he  brought  the  comb  punctually  on 
the  Monday  evening.  He  had  not  done  such  a  busi- 
ness for  years.  The  Eed-offering  was  secure,  and 
the  chances  of  his  hoard  reaching  the  necessary 
amount  for  a  speedy  pilgrimage  doubled. 


The  sun  shone  brighter  and  purer  than  ever  on 
the  crow^ds  assembled  in  the  Eedgah,  —  a  huge  en- 
closure, set  with  trees  and  with  a  mere  fagade  of  a 
mosque  upon  its  western  front,  which  lay  beyond 
the  city  w^alls.  It  shone  on  no  more  brilliant  figure 
than  Yasmeena's,  wlio,  in  the  gayest  of  new 
dresses,  was  sa3dng  her  prayers  effusively ;  for  if 
the  daily  life  be  doubtful,  there  is  all  the  more 
need  to  have  the  full  advantage  of  festivals ;  a 
theory  which  obtains  all  over  the  world.  But 
Raheem,  despite  his  green  turban  of  the  Passed 
Pilgrim,  despite  the  three  rupees  given  scrupulously 
in  charity  to  his  neighbour,  felt  glad  to  escape, 
when  prayers  were  over,  to  his  work.  And  yet 
the  sight  was  one  to  stir  most  hearts :  the  long 
lines  of  men,  women,  and  children,  —  thousands 
and  thousands  and  thousands  of  them, — half-seen 
amid  the  shading  trees ;  the  boom  of  the  firework- 
signal  from  the  eastern  gate  echoing  like  a  cannon 
from  the  wide  walls,  and  ending  in  a  silence  like 
the   grave ;    fifty  thousand  living,   breathing  beings 


A   TOURIST   TICKET  175 

shoulder  to  shoulder,  and  not  a  sound,  not  a 
quiver;  only  the  swish  of  a  bird's  wings,  only  the 
hush  of  a  breeze  among  the  leaves.  Then  sud- 
denly came  a  great  shout  as  from  one  throat,  and 
the  long  lines  bent  like  a  field  of  corn  before  a 
might}^  wind.  "  God  is  great ;  there  is  no  god 
but  God!" 

And  afterwards  he  had  been  used,  wifeless, 
childless  himself,  to  wander  with  kindly  eyes 
among  the  merry  family  parties  picnicking  beneath 
the  trees,  watching  the  little  ones'  delight  over 
their  new  toys,  the  old  men's  delight  over  their 
grandchildren.  Then,  often,  he  would  hear  folk 
say  in  a  whisper :  "  Look  at  his  turban !  He  is 
a  Hajji ;  he  has  been  to  Mecca.  Look,  children, 
he  has  found  salvation.  God  grant  you  to  follow 
in  his  steps ! "  But  on  this  Eed  he  took  off  the 
sign  of  saintship  ere  he  began  work;  yet  as  he 
worked  he  shivered  as  if   he  were  cold  without  it. 

The  weight  of  the  twenty  rupees,  however, 
which,  when  the  comb  was  finished  and  taken  to 
the  sahib  at  the  hotel,  were  duly  paid  into  his 
hand,  seemed  to  make  his  heart  feel  lighter.  It 
meant  two  months'  work,  and  that  meant  two 
months'  food.  Then  Hoshyar  must  have  at  least 
five  rupees.  Still  enough  would  remain  to  bring 
the  hoard  in  the  brass-bound  box  within  measu- 
rable distance  of  salvation,  to  make  it  possible  per- 


176  A    TOURIST   TICKET 

haps  for  him  to  wear  his  green  turban  without  a 
lieart-ache.  His  present  lack  of  the  distinguishing 
mark  seemed  to  strike  even  the  Englishman's  eye, 
making  him  say  kindly:  "T  thought  you  wore  the 
green,  and  you  look  the  sort  certainly;  if  not  I 
have  something  which  may  interest  you.  Here, 
Baboo,  one  of  those  leaflets,  please.  If  you  want 
to  hear  more,  go  to  the  address  of  the  Agency.  I'm 
off  to-night." 

Raheem,  with  a  salaam,  tucked  the  little  printed 
page  into  his  common-place  white  headgear  and 
trudged  homewards,  tired  and  dispirited.  It  was 
too  dark  to  begin  work  again  as  a  distraction,  and 
he  had  not  had  the  heart,  somehow,  to  prepare 
himself  a  feast  as  on  other  Eeds ;  so,  bethinking 
him  of  the  leaflet  in  his  turban,  he  took  it  out  and 
began  to  read.  It  was  in  the  Arabic  lettering  of  the 
Holy  Book  he  knew  so  well,  and  his  eyes  were 
keen  ;  still  the  wording  puzzled  him.  A  pilgrimage 
to  Mecca,  —  exceptional  opportunity,  —  specially 
chartered  vessel,  —  Firmdn,  —  absolute  orthodoxy 
guaranteed,  —  to  start  in  a  month's  time,  —  a  limited 
number  of  tickets  available  at  Moulvie  Futtehdeen's, 
near  the  mosque,  Imambarah  bazaar!  Briefly,  it 
was  the  prospectus  of  a  pilgrimage,  which  was  being 
organised  as  a  speculation  by  a  well-known  firm, 
whose  travelling  agent  combined  the  business  with 
a  private  ventuie  of  his  own  in  all  th :  artistic  pro- 


A  TOURIST   TICKET  177 

ductions  he  could  pick  up  by  the  way ;  whence  came 
the  purchase  of  Raheem's  combs. 

"  Thou  hast  the  waybill,  I  see,  Hajji,"  came  a 
cracked,  wistful  voice,  as  an  old  man  who  was  pass- 
ing paused  at  the  plinth;  an  older  man  even  than 
his  looks,  for  the  sparse  beard  was  palpably  dyed, 
and  his  dress  still  had  a  youthful  jauntiness  about 
it.  His  face,  however,  betrayed  him  by  its  wrinkles. 
He  carried  a  huge  dhol  (a  kind  of  drum)  slung  by 
a  cord  about  his  neck,  and  as  he  spoke  his  lissom 
fingers  slid  and  curved  over  the  stretched  goat-skin 
making  a  muffled,  trembling  boom.  "Not  that  it 
means  aught  to  thee,"  lie  went  on  in  a  grumble  to 
match.  "Thou  hast  the  ticket  to  Paradise  already. 
Would  I  had  it  also !  I  go  no  nearer  it,  yet,  than 
damning  myself  by  playing  to  profligates,  and  so 
putting  by  a  nest-egg  against  my  desire.  How  else, 
since  drum-banging  is  my  trade,  and  drums  ever 
keep  bad  company?  But  I  grow  old,  I  grow  old. 
Thus  the  sin  is  greater  to  a  soul  which  should  have 
learned  wisdom ;  but  the  pay  is  less  by  reason  of 
fingers  growing  stiff.  So  I  am  wicked  both  ways, 
and  ere  next  year's  pilgrimage  this  empty  maw  of 
a  thing  may  have  swallowed  me  up,  body  and  soul." 
He  gave  a  more  vicious  knuckling  to  the  drum, 
which  hummed  and  boomed  in  response. 

"Next  year's?"  echoed  Raheem. 

"  Ay ;   it  comes  every  year,  they  say.     There  was 


178  A   TOURIST   TICKET 

a  man  at  Gulanari's,  —  God  knows,  neighbour,  I  must 
burn  if  I  die  in  such  company,  and  I  so  old !  'Tis 
the  drum  drags  me  to  it  —  seest  thou  I  it  will  play 
naught  but  dance-tunes,  though  I  swear  I  am  weary 
of  them  as  a  lame  squirrel  with  her  nest  in  the 
sky.  I  would  play  hymns,  but  that  I  am  hindered ; 
and  a  man's  belly,  Hajji  Raheem,  will  not  stay 
empty  as  a  drum  and  not  shrink;  so " 

'^  About  the  pilgrimage,"  suggested  Raheem, 
knowing  the  drum-player's  talk  of  old. 

"  Ay,  ay,  for  sure  !     The  man  —  a  saint  for  all  his 

company  —  there,  seest  thou,  is  the  pull  of  it 

Had  I  but  the  green  turban,  this  devil  of  a  drum 
might  take  me  where  it  would.  But  as  I  was  say- 
ing, this  man  said  it  was  true,  every  word.  He 
had  been  and  returned  comfortably  for  the  money." 

"For  so  little,"  murmured  Raheem,  looking 
once  more  at  the  price  named.  It  was  far  less 
than  what  his  previous  experience  told  him  would 
be  required. 

''  Little ! "  echoed  the  drum-banger,  reproach- 
fully. "That  comes  of  making  decent  combs. 
Didst  thou  try  to  wheedle  salvation  from  a  thing 
that  hath  neither  heart  nor  bowels  of  compassion, 
that  is  naught  but  a  devil  of  a  noise  that  grows 
worse  instead  of  better  when  'tis  whacked,  thou 
wouldst  tell  a  different  tale.  Well,  the  cat,  sa3^s 
the    proverb,   killed    seventy   rats   and   went   on    a 


A   TOURIST   TICKET  179 

pilgrimage,  so  I  must  wait  my  turn,  though  if  I 
have  not  more  than  seventy  sins,  may  I  never 
phiy  a  measure  again.  I  swarm  w^ith  them,  neigh- 
bour, as  flies  on  sugar."  He  tucked  the  tempter 
further  under  his  arm,  and  moved  on,  muttering 
to  himself:  "And  I  have  but  half  the  money 
saved,  so  I  am  lost  if  I  get  not  virtue  on  a  re- 
duction." 

Raheem  sat  looking  at  the  paper  stupidly,  as 
the  mingled  growl  of  the  drum  and  its  beater 
died  away.  Then  suddenly  those  delicate  hands 
of  his  reached  out  swiftly  to  the  brass-bound  box. 
Surely  he  had  so  much,  or  would  have  so  much 
when  those  twenty  rupees  were  earned ! 

So  it  came  to  pass  in  the  following  days  that 
every  minute  of  the  light  found  him  at  work  on 
the  scented  combs,  and  whenever  he  finished  one, 
he  spent  some  of  his  scanty  rest  in  toiling  over 
to  the  Imambarah  bazaar,  and  paying  over  its 
fairly  earned  price  to  swell  the  deposit  which  se- 
cured to  him  one  of  the  limited  supply  of  tickets. 
Finally  on  one  night,  the  very  night  before  the 
day  of  starting,  he  packed  up  the  combs  complete, 
took  the  price  of  the  last  one  over  to  the 
Moulvie,  and  received  in  return  a  neat  little  book- 
let full  of  incomprehensible  printed  papers.  He 
felt  almost  afraid  of  his  new  possession,  with  its 
gay  tie  to  keep  everything  in  its  place  within  the 


180  A  TOURIST  TICKET 

cover.     Supposing    he    lost    something    and    found 
himself   stranded?     He    broke    out   at   the    thought 
into    a   cold   sweat,  and   hunted  hurriedly   for   the 
extra  ticket  Avhich   the   Moulvie   had  told  him  was 
to    be    used    to    the    junction,    since    the    railway 
which   passed   through   the   town   was   not   on   the 
direct   line.     He    found   it,    an    ordinary   third-class 
ticket,    tucked   away   safely;    but   the    fright   made 
him   resolve    on   keeping   it   separate   and    hanging 
the   precious   remainder   in  a   bag   round  his   neck. 
The    empty   money-bag  would   do;    or   better   still, 
there  were  some  bits  left  yet  of  Hoshyar's  little  coat 
of  brocade,  and  the  ticket  deserved    a   fine   holder. 
As   he   sat   stitching   away   at   the    familiar   frag- 
ments,  however,    by   the    flicker   of    the    cresset,    a 
certain    remorse    assailed    him    at    having    seen    so 
little  of  his  brother  during  the  past  month.     True, 
Hoshyar,   for  various   reasons,  preferred   coming   to 
see    him;    but   ever   since    the    Eed,    Raheem    had 
been    dimly    conscious    that    something    seemed   to 
have    come    between   him   and   the   soul    he    meant 
to   save.     Was    it   that    he    knew   in   his    heart    it 
ought  to  be   already  saved?     There  was   no  longer 
any    need,    however,    for   such    questions.     So   soon 
as    the    bag    was    finished    he    would   go    over    and 
find  Hoshyar;    would   find  and   tell   him    the  great 
secret,  the  secret  which  even  Raheem's  small  store 
of  worldly  wisdom  had  kept  jealously. 


A   TOURIST   TICKET  181 

A  sound  at  the  plinth  made  him  look  up,  and 
there  was  Hoshyar  himself.  Something  in  his  face 
made  the  sewer  say  quickly :  "  I  set  aside  the  money 
for  thee,  Hoshyar,  though  thou  camest  not.  It  is 
here,  five  rupees." 

Hoshyar  looked  at  the  little  pile  with  a  queer 
expression,  and  leaving  the  plinth  came  within  the 
reach  of  a  whisper.  "  That  will  not  serve  me 
to-night,"  he  said  quietly.     "I  must  have  thirty." 

"  Thirty  !  "  echoed  Raheera.     "  I  have  it  not." 

''Thou  hast  it  in  the  box.  See  here,  brother, 
thou  hast  told  me  always  that  the  money  was  mine 
—  for  my  salvation.  Well,  I  need  it;  I  must  have 
it."  He  spoke  almost  carelessly  as  one  who  has 
a  certainty  of  succeeding ;  and  in  truth  he  thought 
so.  Once  before  Raheem  had  almost  emptied  the 
bag  to  save  him  from  ruin,  and  he  had  calculated 
deliberately  on  its  being  emptied  again  when  he 
had  bought  Yasmeena  her  new  dress  out  of  office- 
funds  which  would  have  to  be  replaced  at  the  end 
of  the  month.  Raheem  Avould  not  have  given  a 
"pice  for  such  a  purpose,  of  course ;  but  with  detec- 
tion and  disgrace  staring  his  brother  in  the  face 
it  would  be  different.  Besides,  the  money  was  his, 
for  his  salvation.  "  Listen,  Raheem,"  he  went  on, 
summoning  up  a  penitential  tone ;  but  his  brother 
interrupted  him  swiftly,  a  sort  of  dread  in  his  dark, 
hollow  eyes.     "  There  is  naught   in    the    box    now, 


182  A   TOURIST   TICKET 

brother,"  he  said,  with  a  catch  of  fear  in  his  voice. 
"  I  have  naught  but  this ; "  he  laid  his  hand  lightly 
upon  the  booklet,  and  its  very  touch  seemed  to 
bring  comfort,  for  he  smiled.  "  'Tis  my  salvation, 
Hoshyar,  for  I  have  given  thee  my  pilgrimage.  See, 
I  am  making  a  holder  for  it.  Dost  recognise  the 
stuff?     'Tis  a  bit  of  the  little  brocade  coat,  brother." 

Hoshyar  had  caught  up  the  booklet,  glanced  at 
it,  and  now  flung  it  down  with  a  passionate  oath. 
"  Salvation,  —  fool,  'tis  perdition  !  "  Then  he  laughed 
suddenly,  a  loud,  bitter  laugh.  ''That  is  an  end," 
he  said,  rising  to  go.  "  I  only  waste  time  here. 
Good-bye,  Raheem ;  'tis  well  thou  hast  a  keepsake 
of  me ;  thou  art  not  likely  to  see  much  of  me  these 
seven  years  to  come." 

"What  dost  mean,  brother?"  began  the  comb- 
maker,  fearfully;  but  Hoshyar,  without  another 
word,  turned  back  to  the  bazaar. 

"  'Tis  thou  that  art  the  fool,"  said  Yasmeena,  with 
a  yawn,  after  Hosliyar  had  raged  for  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  of  his  ill-luck,  of  his  brother's  foolery,  of 
her  extravagance.  "Why  didst  not  take  the 
ticket?  It  must  be  worth  something,  surely?" 
Tlien  a  sudden  interest  came  to  her  languid  eyes, 
where  vice  itself  seemed  weary.  "  Seest  tliou,  be- 
loved, I  have  an  idea!  Old  Deena  the  drum-player 
is  for  ever  talking  of  second-hand  salvation.  He 
hath   forty  rupees   saved   for   it;   that  would   leave 


A   TOURIST   TICKET  183 

me  ten  as  commission.  He  need  not  know;  I  can 
say  I  got  it ;  we  of  the  bazaar  get  most  things  at 
times  in  onr  profession.  And  the  money  Avas 
thine,  —  for  thy  salvation,  remember." 

Hoshyar  looked  at  her  as  a  man  looks  at  a  ven- 
omous snake  he  has  no  power  to  kill. 

"  Lo,  Bahoo-ji ! ''  said  a  trollop  of  a  girl,  lounging 
in  with  a  giggle.  "  Thy  brother  Raheem  asks  for 
thee  below.  'Tis  the  first  time,  me  thinks,  he  hath 
entered  such  a  house,  for  he  stands  like  a  child, 
clasping  a  brocaded  bag  as  if  tliere  were  pests 
about,  and  it  held  camphor." 

Yasmeena  sat  up  among  her  quilts  and  looked 
at  Hoshyar.  "  Bid  the  good  creature  to  the  court- 
yard at  the  back,"  she  said  in  a  level  voice.  "  Thou 
wilt  like  to  see  him  alone,  doubtless,  Hoshyar. 
And,  Merun,  bid  some  man  take  him  a  sherbet; 
he  would  be  affrighted  of  a  houri.  Make  it  of 
sandal-essence,  girl,  and  bring  it  to  me  to  see  that 
it  is  rightly  flavoured.  Thou  likest  not  sandal- 
essence,  Hoshyar,  'tis  true,  but  'tis  most  refreshing 
to  those  who  have  walked,  and  thou  needst  not 
touch  it." 

Hoshyar's  look  changed.  It  was  the  look  now 
which  a  bird  gives  to  the  snake. 

Raheem  was  at  the  station  next  day  in  plenty 
of    time,    though,    rather    to    his    surprise,    he    had 


184  A   TOURIST   TICKET 

slept  later  than  usual  that  morning,  and  slept 
heavily  also ;  perhaps  because  he  seemed  not  to 
have  a  care  left  in  the  world  after  Hoshyar  had 
retracted  all  his  reproaches  and  bidden  him  go  in 
peace.  Peace,  —  what  else  could  remain  in  a  man's 
heart  after  that  renunciation  in  the  dark  deserted 
mosque  upon  the  homeward  way,  which  had  left 
Raheem's  conscience  clear  at  last,  left  him  without 
a  wedding-garment  and  yet  content?  And  now, 
with  his  ticket  to  the  junction  duly  snipped,  his 
bundle  in  one  hand  and  the  other  assuring  itself 
of  the  booklet's  safety  in  the  brocade  bag,  he  passed 
down  the  platform  in  the  rear  of  the  rush  from 
the  waiting-shed,  looking  diffidently  for  a  seat  in 
the  close-packed  carriages,  which  with  their  iron 
bars  and  struggling  occupants  looked  like  cages  of 
wild  beasts. 

"  Here,  neighbour  Hajji,  here ! "  cried  a  cracked, 
familiar  voice  full  of  elation,  full  of  importance. 
"  Now  that  demon  of  a  drum  hath  gone  there  is 
room  for  a  saint  or  two.  He  is  Hajji  already,  my 
masters,  and  will  be  a  good  companion.  But  'tis 
done  cheaper  nowadays,  and  I,  I  swear,  have  it 
cheaper  than  ye  all.  How  much,  is  a  secret ;  but 
the  Lord  kept  his  eye  on  old  Deena."  So  he 
went  on  boastfully,  till  even  his  voice  was  drowned 
in  the  great  shout  which  went  up  as  the  train 
moved  on.     He  was  back  on  his  own  good  fortune, 


A   TOURIST   TICKET  185 

however,  when  the  hundred  and  fifty  and  odd  pas- 
sengers in  their  carriage,  separated  into  scores  by 
iron  bars,  had  subsided  into  a  mere  babel  of  speak- 
ing voices.  "  No  cover,  say  you  ? "  he  replied 
resentfully  to  a  captious  criticism  on  his  ticket. 
"  What  good  is  a  cover  ?  Dew  is  pretty,  but  it 
don't  quench  thirst ;  so  I,  being  a  pilgrim,  drink 
plain  w\ater.  My  ticket  will  take  me  as  far  as 
thine." 

Raheem,  crouched  up  between  the  drum-player 
and  a  fat  butcher,  heard  vaguely,  and  fingered  the 
outline  of  his  treasure  in  its  bag  of  brocade,  feel- 
ing glad  he  had  so  honoured  it;  for  it  took  him 
further  than  Mecca,  further  than  this  world.  The 
Gates  of  Pearl  were  set  ajar  for  him,  and  he  could 
see  through  them  to  the  glory  and  glitter  of  Para- 
dise. And  so,  after  a  rush  through  a  long  stretch 
of  desert  sand,  the  train  slackened,  rousing  him 
from  a  dream.  This  must  be  the  junction,  and  he 
must  take  out  the  other  ticket;  but  not  while  a 
score  of  folk  were  struggling  over  him  in  their 
rush  to  be  out  first.  He  was  out  last,  of  course, 
and  had  barely  time  to  snatch  the  booklet  from  its 
bag,  ere  an  official  warned  him  to  hurry  up.  So 
panting,  confused,  his  bundle  in  one  hand,  his 
treasure  in  the  other,  he  sped  over  the  bridge  to 
the  next  platform. 

"  Tickets,    tickets,    all    tickets  I "    came    another 


186  A    TOURIST   TICKET 

alien  voice,  and  he  paused  to  obey,  setting  his 
bundle  on  the  ground  in  order  to  have  both  hands 
for  his  task.  But  the  opening  of  the  cover  was  to 
him  as  the  closing  of  the  Book  of  Life ;  for  it  was 
empty. 

"Pass  on,  pass  on!"  came  the  not  unkindly  voice 
of  command  once  more.  "Out  of  the  way,  you 
there,  and  don't  stand  like  a  fool.  You've  dropped 
it  likely ;    run  back  and  see ;    there's  time  yet. " 

So  over  the  bridge  again  went  Raheem,  in  fran- 
tic hope,  back  on  his  steps  again  in  frantic  despair. 
"I  had  it,  Huzoor,  indeed  I  had  it!     Here  is  the 


cover 


!" 


The  ticket-collector  shook  his  head,  and  Raheem, 
with  a  dazed  look,  turned  away  quietly. 

"  Trra !  "  came  the  voice  of  the  drum -player  sen- 
tentiously  and  safely  from  the  window  of  a  car- 
riage. "  He  hath  lost  the  inside ;  that  comes  of 
a  cover.  Well,  well,  prayers  are  over;  up  with 
the  carpet !  But  he  is  Hajji  already,  my  masters, 
so  'tis  not  as  though  it  were  one  of  us  sinners." 

"  Keep  thy  sins  to  thyself,  chatterer,"  retorted 
his  next  neighbour  tartly,  as  the  train  moved  on. 
"  We  be  virtuous  men  enough." 

"  If  you  haven't  money  to  go  on,  you  must  go 
back.  The  booking-office  is  over  there,  and  the 
up-mail  will  be  in  in  a  few  hours." 

This  official   view  of  the  question,  given  by  the 


A   TOURIST   TICKET  187 

authorities  as  they  gathered  round  the  disappointed 
pilgrim,  was  simplicity  itself,  even  to  Raheem. 
He  never  thought  of  connecting  his  ticketless 
cover  with  Deena's  coverless  ticket.  The  fact 
that  his  chance  was  gone  absorbed  him  utterly; 
he  had  lost  salvation,  for  the  very  thought  of 
taking  back  his  gift  to  Hoshyar  was  impossible 
to  him.  That  was  the  outcome  of  it  all.  So  he 
sat  patiently  waiting  for  his  train  to  come  in;  sat 
patiently,  after  he  had  found  a  place  in  it,  wait- 
ing for  it  to  go  on,  so  absolutely  absorbed  in  his 
loss,  that  he  did  not  even  hear  his  neighbours' 
comments  on  the    delay. 

"Line  clear  at  last!"  said  the  guard  joyfully  to 
the  driver  as  he  came  out  of  the  telegraph-ofhce, 
where  but  one  instant  before  the  welcome  signal 
had  echoed.  "Steam  away  all  you  know,  sonny, 
and  make  up  lost  time.  I  promised  my  girl  to 
be  punctual;  there's  a  hop  on  at  her  house." 

So,  with  a  shriek,  they  were  off  for  a  twenty- 
mile  scamper  across  the  desert;  out  with  a  bump 
over  the  points,  out  with  a  whistle  past  the  last 
signal,  out  with  a  flash  by  the  telegraph-posts.  But 
something  else  was  flashing  by  the  posts  also ; 
for  a  message  came  clicking  into  the  station  they 
had  left  not  a  minute  ago,  "- Mistake  — line  blocked 
—  down-maiiy 

"My  God!"    said  the  station-master   in  a    thick 


188  A   TOURIST   TICKET 

voice,  standing  up  blindly.     He  was  an  old  Mutiny 
man,  but  he  was  white  as  a  sheet. 

"It  isn't  our  fault,  father,"  began  his  son,  a 
slim  young  fellow,  showing  mixed  blood. 

"D n  it  all,  sir,"  shouted  the  other  furiously, 

"  what  does  it  matter  whose  fault  it  is  ?      What's 
to  be  done  ?  " 

Nothing  could  be  done,  save  to  telegraph  back 
quick  as  kind  nature  could  carry  it :  "  Line  blocJced 
—  up-mail  also.''  Fateful  words  I  The  line  blocked 
both  ways,  and  not  a  signal  for  twenty  miles! 
Half  an  hour  of  warning  at  the  least,  and  nothing 
to  be  done;  nothing  save  to  accept  the  disaster! 

"Bring  up  the  relief-engine  sharp.  Smith,"  said 
the  Traffic  Superintendent  at  the  terminus  when, 
ere  a  minute  was  past,  the  hopeless  news  reached 
him.  "Graham,  run  over  for  Dr.  Westlake,  for 
Harrison,  too,  if  he's  there;  splints,  bandages, 
dressers,  and  all  that.  Davies,  wire  back  to  the 
other  end  to  send  what  they  can  from  their  reserve." 
And  so,  swiftly  as  hands  and  brains  could  com- 
pass it,  two  more  engines  fled  shrieking  into  the 
growing  dusk  of  evening  behind  those  two,  the 
down-mail  and  the  up-mail,  coming  nearer  and 
nearer  to  each  other  on  the  single  line. 

"Twenty  minutes  since  they  started,  about," 
said  one  man,  who  was  standing  with  a  watch  in 
his   hand,   in  curiously   quiet   tones.      "It  must  be 


A   TOURIST   TICKET  189 

soon  now;  and  there  is  a  curve  about  the  middle. 
I  hope  to  God  there  is  no  friend  of  mine  in 
either ! " 

"Royston's  in  the  down,"  replied  another  studi- 
ously even  voice.  "He  was  going  to  see  his 
wife.       But    the    firsts    are    well    back ;     it's    the 

thirds,    poor     devils "       He    paused,    and    the 

others  nodded. 

The  thirds,  doubtless!  And  in  one  of  them, 
far  forward,  crouched  Raheem,  staring  out  into 
the  calm  dusk,  absorbed  in  the  horror  of  going 
back,  going  back  to  die  before  he  had  saved  his 
own  soul ! 

So,  suddenly,  through  and  above  the  rush  and 
the  roar  and  the  rattle  that  he  scarcely  heard,  came 
a  new  sound  forcing  him  to  listen.  It  was  a  quiver- 
ing, clamorous,  insistent  whistle.  It  brought  no 
recognition  to  his  ignorance,  or  to  the  ignorance 
of  those  around  him,  but  far  back  in  the  first- 
class  carriages  white  faces  peered  out  into  the 
gloom,  and  foreign  voices  called  to  each  other: 
"Danger  whistle  —  what's  up?"  Still,  it  was  a 
strange,  disturbing  sound  with  a  strange  echo. 
And  was  that  an  echo  of  the  rush,  and  the  roar, 
and  the  rattle?  Raheem  sat  up  quickly.  Was  it 
the  end  of  all  things?  Why  had  they  struck  him 
—  Who  — Hoshyar!  Then  thought  ended  in  a 
scream  of  pain. 


190  A    TOURIST    TICKET 

"  There  is  a  man  caught  by  the  feet  under  that 
wheel,"  said  Dr.  Westlake  not  many  minutes  after, 
as  he  came  out  of  the  hideous  pile  of  wreckage 
all  grimed  and  smirched.  "  He  is  breathing  yet, 
so  have   him    out   sharp.     We   may  save   him,    but 

these    others "     He    passed    on    to   seek   work 

significantly. 

And  so  Raheem,  stunned  and  with  both  feet 
crushed  to  a  jelly,  was  dug  out;  the  only  man 
left  alive  in  the  forward  third-class  carriage  of 
the  up  mail.  He  was  still  unconscious  when  it 
came  to  be  his  turn  for  the  doctors  in  the  crowded 
hospital.  "  Badly  nourished,"  said  Dr.  Westlake, 
"  but  it  is  his  only  chance.  Harrison,  the  euca- 
lyptus sawdust,  please ;  it  is  a  good  case  for  it, 
and  we  shall  be  short  of  dressings." 

So  two  days  afterwards  Raheem,  recovering  from 
a  slight  concussion  of  the  brain,  found  himself  in 
a  strangely  comfortable  bed  with  a  curious  hump 
of  a  thing  over  his  feet  under  the  coverlet.  He 
did  not  know  that  there  were  no  feet  there ;  that 
they  had  both  been  amputated  at  the  ankle,  and 
that  he  was  a  cripple  for  life.  And  there  was 
no  reason  why  he  should  find  it  out,  since  the 
sawdust  did  its  work  without  more  ado,  much 
to  the  doctor's  delight,  who,  as  he  took  Raheem's 
temperature,  talked  of  first  intents  and  septic 
dressings  to  his  assistant.     In  fact,  they  were  both 


A    TOURIST    TICKET  191 

SO  pleased  that  it  came  upon  them  by  surprise  one 
day,  when  Raheem,  with  clasped  hands,  asked  when 
he  was  to  die. 

''  Die  ?  Rubbish  ! "  said  Dr.  Westlake,  cheer- 
fully. "  Not  from  this,  at  any  rate,  and  we  will 
do  what  we  can  for  the  lungs  afterwards." 

Raheem's  face  did  not  lose  its  anxiety.  "  And 
when,  if  the  Huzoor  will  say,  shall  I  be  able  to 
walk  again  ? "  As  he  lay  in  the  comfortable  bed 
he  had  been  making  up  his  mind  to  sacrifice  all 
comfort,  to  leave  life  behind  him,  and  start  on  foot 
for  death,  with  his  face  towards  Mecca. 

"  Walk  ? "  echoed  the  doctor,  with  a  significant 
look  at  his  assistant.  Then  he  sat  down  on  the 
edge  of  the   cot,  and  told   the  truth. 

Raheem  heard  it,  looking  incredulously  at  the 
cradle ;  and  then  suddenly  he  interrupted  a  plati- 
tude about  its  being  better  to  be  a  cripple  than 
to  die,  with  an  eager  question :  "  Then  the  Huzoor 
means  that  I  shall  never  be  able  to  Avalk  again  ? " 

The  doctor  nodded. 

"  May  God  reward  the  Huzoor  for  ever  and 
ever,"  said  Raheem  in  a  whisper,  raising  both 
hands  in  a  salute ;  and  his  face  was  one  radiant 
smile. 

Dr.  Westlake  looked  at  his  assistant  as  they 
passed  on  to  the  next  cot.  "  They  are  an  incom- 
prehensible   people,"  he  said  in   rather  an    injured 


192  A    TOURIST   TICKET 

tone.     "I   never    expected    to    hear   a   man    thank 
me  rapturously  for  cutting  off  both  his  feet." 

He  did  not  know  that  cripples  are  especially 
exempted  from  the  duty  of  pilgrimage,  and  that 
the  patient  was  repeating  his  version  of  the  text: 
"It  is  better  to  enter  halt  into  life,  than,  having 
two  feet,  to  be  cast  into  hell." 


THE   KING'S   WELL 

This  is  one  of  poor  Craddock's  many  stories 
which  he  told  me  when  we  were  in  the  wilderness 
together,  engaged  —  like  another  Moses  and  Aaron 
—  in  preparing  a  way  for  a  Western  people  across 
the  desert,  and  dividing  its  sand  waves  by  a  path- 
way of  red-brick  ballast  edged  with  steel.  In  other 
words,  in  making  the  railway  on  which  he  after- 
wards met  his  death  in  trying  to  prevent  a  survival 
of  past  ages  from  being  in  the  permanent  way  of 
civilisation. 

We  used  to  sit  at  the  door  of  my  little  tent  — 
two  Enorlishmen  adrift  on  a  sand  sea  —  and  I  used  to 
listen  while  he  talked ;  for  the  life  he  had  led  made 
him  the  best  of  company,  and  his  combined  igno- 
rance and  knowledge  of  the  East  was  a  perpetual 
surprise.  Some  of  his  stories  were  grossly,  frankly 
impossible,  but  this  one,  despite  its  strangeness,  I 
believed  unhesitatingly ;  as  any  one  would  have 
done  who  had  seen,  as  I  saw,  the  indescribable 
world-tarnish  which  long  years  of  loose  living  brings 
0  X93 


194  THE  king's  well 

to  the  kindliest  face,  leave  it  clear,  bright,  and  eager 
to  a  rejuvenescence  of  love,  and  pity,  and  pain. 

The  sun  had  dipped  below  the  rising  rim  of  the 
great  sand-circle  whose  centre  we  were,  but  the  sky 
was  still  a  cloudless  expanse  of  yellow  radiance 
dazzling  to  the  eyes  from  sheer  excess  of  light. 
There  was  nothing  far  or  near  to  differentiate  one 
part  of  earth  or  heaven  from  another  save  the  thin 
red  line  of  ridiculous  little  flags  we  had  been  plant- 
ing out  during  the  day;  and  I  remember  thinking 
that  I  could  not  foi-  the  life  of  me  tell  the  exact 
spot  where,  five  minutes  before,  I  had  seen  the  last 
curved  glint  of  the  sun  disappear  —  for  one  bit  of 
horizon  seemed  to  the  full  as  bright  as  another. 

"Looks  like  the  yaller  bottle  in  the  cliemist's 
shop;  don't  it,  sir?"  remarked  Craddock  cheerfully 
—  "  leastways,  as  I  used  to  think  Avhen  I  was  a  boy. 
Lordy  !  Lordy  !  boys  is  —  is  boys,  I  do  assure  you. 
Old  Pargiter's  shop  to  our  village  was  over  against 
the  public,  sir,  next  the  church,  an'  comin'  'ome  o' 
evenin's  from  the  catechism,  sir,  it  seemed  Je-rew- 
salem  the  Golden.  Expect  it  was  the  anathysts,  an' 
sapphiras,  an'  rubies,  an'  them  sort  o'  stones  did  it, 
for  boys  —  is  boys,  you  see,  sir."  He  gave  an  apolo- 
getic smear  to  his  corn-coloured  moustache  as  if  to 
wipe  away  the  flavour  of  his  own  sentiment  —  the 
wrist-smear  of  those  whose  hands  are  habitually 
soiled. 


THE  king's  well  195 

"  It  is  like  a  topaz  seen  against  the  light,"  I  re- 
plied, accepting  both  confidence  and  excuse  with  the 
calm  indifference  which  always  encouraged  Crad- 
dock  to  further  indulgence.  "  I  don't  think  I  ever 
saw  it  quite  so  dazzlingly  clear,  did  you?" 

He  paused  awhile,  and  the  blue  eyes,  bloodshot 
by  exposure  to  unspeakable  lights  and  unspeakable 
darknesses  of  all  sorts  and  kinds,  grew  a  trifle 
absent. 

"I  danno  but  what  I  'ave,  sir;  leastways  it  looks 
more  light-like  from  the  bottom  o'  a  well.  As, 
savin'  your  presence,  sir,  is  only  nat'ral." 

"  From  the  bottom  of  a  well?  "  I  echoed.  ''  When 
was  that,  Craddock  ?  you  never  told  me  that  yarn." 

He  paused  again.  "No,  sir.  It  ain't  a  pleasing 
interlood,  for  'twas  in  the  Mutiny  time,  sir,  w'en  we 
was   all   mad    devils,   black   an'    white  —  Avhite    an' 

black ,"  and  then  suddenly,  as  I  have  said,  some 

past  pity  and  passion  and  pain  seemed  to  come  back 
upon  him  with  a  rush,  so  that  he  sat  staring  into 
that  cloudless  sky  as  if  he  saw  a  vision,  and  his 
voice  came  at  last  half  to  himself,  "  By  the  Lord  as 
made  me  I  dunno  which  was  worse,  black  nor  white, 
white  nor  black ;  yet  it  was  white  as  did  for  me, 
Nathaniel  James  Craddock,  at  the  bottom  o'  the 
King's  Well."  Then  he  was  silent  again,  and  I  sat 
silent  too,  for  there  never  was  any  use  in  pumping 
Craddock.     His  fund  of  experiences  was  too  vast  for 


196  THE  king's  well 

you  to  be  sure  of  bringing  what  you  wanted  to 
the  surface.  So,  after  a  time,  he  began  again 
deviously : 

"Not  as  wot  it  was,  so  to  speak,  a  well  at  all, 
but  what  they  calls,  in  the  lingo,  a  hawly — a 
thing,  you  know,  sir,  with  flights  o'  steps  a-leadin' 
down  to  the  bowels  of  the  yerth  —  right  down  to 
the  water  as  maybe  a  hundred  or  a  hundred  and 
fifty  feet  below  the  surface,  as  the  sayin'  is,  sir. 
It  was  just  a  large,  round,  black  spot  o'  ink,  that 
was  wot  the  water  was,  an'  standin'  on  the  stone 
edge  you  could  see  right  up  the  stairs  to  a  round 
yaller  spot  of  Je-rewsalem  the  Golden.  Two  spots 
there  were,  sir,  owin'  to  there  being  two  flights 
o'  steps,  an'  many  a  time  as  I  lay  like  a  rabbit  in 
'is  burrow  down  by  the  water  I'd  tell  myself  luck 
was  in  there  bein'  two  —  two  whites  to  one  black, 
yet  after  all  it  was  white  as  did  the  business  for 
me,  sir,  at  the  bottom  o'  the  King's  hawli/.'' 

"  You  must  have  been  very  young  in  Mutiny 
time?"  I  remarked  in  casual  aid  to  his  lagging 
confidence. 

"  One  and  twenty,  sir  —  more  by  token  I  come 
to  man's  estate,  as  the  sayin'  is,  at  the  bottom  o' 
that  there  well.  Lordy  I  I  can  see  it  now  I  A  sort 
o'  mist  o'  light  from  Je-rewsalem  above  a-fadin' 
away  half  down  the  stairs,  and  leavin'  the  rest  to 
get   darker  an'   darker  to  the  black   spot  o'  water; 


THE  king's  well  197 

but  it  had  a  glint  o'  light  on  it  too  that  come, 
God  knows  how,  when  the  sun  was  low."  As  he 
spoke  I  had  noticed  a  curious  change  in  his  voice ; 
a  sort  of  refining  process,  as  if  he  were  going  back 
to  a  self  that  was  less  rough,  less  common,  and  the 
change  was  still  more  marked  when,  after  a  pause, 
he  began  again :  "  It  was  an  awful  hot  year,  sir, 
just  a  white  flame  of  heat  —  a  burning  fiery  fur- 
nace ;  but  there  wasn't  none  of  us  come  through 
it  praisin'  an'  magnifyin'  —  leastways  I  didn't,  but 
then  I  was  a  wild  lot.  Run  away  from  home,  sir ; 
that  is  how  I  came  to  be  in  the  country,  knowing 
a  good  bit  of  the  lingo  for  a  youngster.  Served 
my  way  out  before  the  mast,  and  then  backed  my 
luck.  And  won  it  too ;  for  a  Rajah  fellow  paid 
me  to  wrestle  with  his  men,  and  play  monkey 
tricks.  Lordy !  I  remember  the  first  time  I  got 
in  grips  with  the  champion,  and  he  stood  head 
down  expectin'  me  to  go  on  buttin'  like  a  goat. 
There  wasn't  one  of  them  could  touch  me,  sir, 
but  that  wasn't  no  protection  when  the  time  came. 
It's  an  odd  sort  of  thing,  I  do  assure  you,  for  a 
man  who  knows  he  could  lick  every  one  he  sees, 
to  be  runnin'  like  a  hare  for  dear  life,  hidin'  by 
day  an'  circumventin'  the  villages  by  night;  but 
that  was  how  it  was  for  three  weeks  before  I  come 
plumb  —  as  the  sayin'  is  —  on  the  King's  Well.  It 
was  right   in   the  worst   country,  and   I   was   foot- 


198  THE  king's  well 

sore,  and  stumblin'  like  as  if  I  were  in  liquor  with 
the  fever.     A    queer  sort  o'  place  it  was  as   I   saw 
it   first   in    the    dawn  which   come  —  as   the   dawns 
had   a  trick   o'    doin'  in   those    times  —  a   deal   too 
soon    for   Nathaniel    James.     It   was   right   in    the 
open  in  the  middle  o'  a   lot  o'    broken   bricks  and 
little    mounds    o'   mud  —  miles    and   miles    of   them 
it   had   seemed   to  me,  footsore    an'    stumblin';   for 
the  place  had   been  a  big  city,  so  I'm  told,  sir,  in 
the  old  times.     And  now  it  was  nothin'  but  a  plain 
o'  broken  brick  an'  graves,  except  for  a  cluster  of 
tall  old  liouses  with  the  usual  mud-huts  a-crowdin' 
up  round  them.     And  I  knew  from  what  I'd  heard 
that  the  biggest  murdering  villains  o'  the  lot  lived 
in  them  houses,  poor  budmarsh^  Mohammedans,  proud 
as  Lucifer,  a-screwing  the   tails  o'    the  ryots   for  a 
livin'  —  though  why  ryots,  sir,  is   hard   to    say,  for 
a  more  peaceable  lot  o'  able-bodied  men  and  women 
never  was.     Well,  there    I  was  in   the  w^orst   place 
I  could  have  chosen,  and  the  dawn  comin'  sudden 
all  in  a  blaze.     Then,  right  at  my  feet   I    sees  the 
hawli/  ;  just  a  hole  o'  broken  masonry,  an'  the  steps 
leading    down    like    a   rabbit   burrow.     They  didn't 
seem  to  be  much  used   that  side  furthest  from  the 
village  among  the  graves,  for  the  drifted  sand  was 
a-lying    thick    on    the    topmost   steps,  and   I    didn't 
see    no   footmarks    to   speak   of,  only  a    queer   sort 
o'  track  that  might  'ave  bin  a  man's  and  mightn't. 
1  Bad  living. 


THE  king's  well  199 

Anyhow  I  thought  I'd  risk  it,  seeing  as  if  any 
one  come  down  the  one  stair,  I  could  hoof  it  up 
the  other,  an'  there's  generally  a  lot  o'  little  arched 
recesses  at  the  bottom  o'  hawlies  where  I  could  lie 
low.  So  I  chanced  it.  An'  Lordy !  wasn't  it  cool 
as  I  hobbled  down  them  vaulted  steps.  'Twas  a 
fine  place,  sir,  when  all  was  said  an'  done.  Half-a- 
dozen  steps  or  so,  and  then  a  landin',  as  the  sayin' 
is,  with  a  sort  o'  travellers'  rest  on  either  side ;  but 
I  went  right  down  to  the  bottom,  so  as  to  see  what 
sort  o'  trap  I'd  got  into.  An'  I  found  it  none  so 
bad,  for  there  wasn't  no  passage  round  as  there  is 
in  most  haivlies^  but  only  a'  arched  room  on  either 
side  my  stairs  ending  sheer  in  the  drop  o'  ink 
which  filled  up  a  round  sort  o'  well  that  was 
vaulted  over  up  in  the  dark  somewhere.  So  there 
wasn't  no  way  of  getting  from  one  stair  to  the 
other  but  by  a  leap  such  as  there  wasn't  one  but 
Nathaniel  James  in  the  country  side  as  could  leap 
it;  an'  that  would  give  me  time.  Still  I  do  assure 
you,  sir,  it  takes  the  spunk  out  of  a  fellow  to  go 
skulkin'  round  for  three  weeks  with  your  life  in 
your  hand  in  baggy  silk  trousers  an'  a  dressin' 
gown  —  for  I'd  put  on  what  they  calls  a  Mllit  as 
the  Rajah  give  me  for  smashing  up  another  Rajah's 
champion  —  that's  a  dress  o'  state,  sir,  an'  Mllit  or 
not,  it  nigh  killed  me,  for  it  was  chock  full  o' 
embroidery  an'    that   hot;   but   beggars  mustn't   be 


200  THE  king's  well 

choosers,  and  that  night  I  run  off  from  the  Palace 
it  was  all  I  could  lay  hands  on.  An'  did  its  work 
too  —  just  to  give  what  them  surveyor  chaps  calls 
the  proper  contour,  as  the  sayin'  is.  Anyhow,  what 
with  the  stain,  a  deal  more  knowledge  of  the  lingo 
than  I  have  now,  sir,  an'  through  my  being  con- 
siderable stronger  than  the  only  two  fellars  as 
caught  me  napping,  here  I  was  in  the  King's  hawly 
watching  them  two  round  spots  o'  Je-rewsalem  like 
a  man  in  his  grave  a-waitin'  the  last  trump ;  an'  the 
first  pair  o'  feet  I  saw  on  the  stairs  opposite  set 
me  a-tremblin'  like  a  ferreted  rabbit,  even  thougli 
I  knew  that  wot  with  the  stairs,  an'  the  drop  o' 
ink,  I'd  'ave  a  good  five  minutes'  start.  But  then 
I  heard  the  jingles  on  them,  sir,  and  knew  it  was 
only  a  woman  from  the  village  comin'  down  to 
fill  her  water-pot.  There  was  a  lot  o'  them  come 
chatterin'  and  laughin'  during  the  day,  but  always 
down  the  further  stair.  And  Lordy !  it  was  cool 
after  the  fiery  furnace !  I  had  a  mouthful  or  two 
o'  corn  I'd  looted^  so  when  dusk  came  it  seemed 
to  me  as  if  I  couldn't  move  on  —  small  blame  to 
me,  sir,  seein'  how  cool  an'  quiet  it  was,  and  I  so 
close  on  done.  But  just  as  I  was  a-callin'  myself 
names  for  bein'  lazy,  come  a  footfall  on  my  stair. 
Now  you  know,  sir,  them  haiolies  bein'  arched  an' 
all  that,  is  awful  echo-ey  places,  an'  I  do  assure 
you  I  made  up  my  mind  a  man  was  coming  down, 


THE  "KING'S   WELL  201 

slow  and  deliberate-like.  I  looked  out,  an'  couldn't 
see  nothing,  but  there  was  the  footfall  just  like  a 
procession;  an'  then  somethin'  let  loose  a  bellow, 
and  I  felt  inclined  to  cut.  But  then  I  thought 
I'd  wait  a  bit  seein'  I  was  stronger  nor  most,  an' 
the  drop  o'  ink  was  handy  for  a  corpse.  So  I 
waited  until  the  bellow  come  again;  an'  this  time 
—  bein'  close  as  it  were,  an'  out  o'  the  echo  —  I 
knew  my  friend,  for  I  do  assure  you,  sir,  it  was 
nothin'  but  the  biggest  bull  toad  you  ever  see, 
coming  flop,  flop  down  the  stair  for  his  evenin' 
drink.  A  great  green  thing  with  a  yaller  waist- 
coat as  sat  up  on  the  last  step  looked  at  me  quite 
proud-like.  Lordy !  how  I  laughed !  It  was  the 
first  laugh  I'd  laughed  for  three  week,  an'  it  done 
me  good;  that  an'  seeing  the  bull  toad  go  douse 
into  the  water  like  a  man,  for  it  set  me  a-longin' 
for  a  swim  too,  an'  when  I  come  out  o'  that  drop 
o'  cold  ink  I  was  a  new  man.  Slept  like  a  babby 
in  its  cradle  and  woke  to  see  through  the  maze 
o'  arches  a  woman  on  the  t'other  side  a-rinsin'  out 
her  brass  pot  quite  calm-like.  She  was  a-takin' 
his  breakfast  to  her  man  in  the  fields,  I  expect, 
for  there  was  a  pile  o'  them  flapjacks  on  a  platter 
beside  her.  I  dun'no,  sir,  if  it  was'  the  sleep,  or 
the  sight  o'  food  and  me  ravenin'  wolves,  or  just 
sheer  devilry — for  I  was  a  wild  lot  —  but  I  out 
o'  my  rabbit  'utch   an'  let   loose  a  yell.     You  may 


202  THE  king's  well 

well  call  'em  hawlies,  sir,  for  I  do  assure  you  I 
felt  kind  o'  queer  myself  liaviii'  made  all  that 
noise.  She  gave  no  look,  but  let  loose  another 
yell  of  her  own  as  she  turned  tail  and  ran  up 
them  stairs  like  a  lamplighter.  It  seemed  to  me 
as  if  she  was  callin'  on  '  the  King  —  the  King,' 
but  I  didn't  stop  to  think.  Now  was  my  time. 
I  was  over  the  drop  o'  ink  clear  on  to  the  second 
step  in  my  hurry,  before  she  was  half-way  up  to 
Je-rewsalem,  an'  I  was  back  again  to  the  'utch 
with  the  flapjacks  making  ready  to  run  if  need 
be  for  dear  life,  when  I  heard  the  silver  tinkle 
again  an'  women's  voices.  Every  word,  sir,  I  could 
hear  through  its  bein'  a  baivly^  an'  I  heard  her " 
—  he  paused  sharply,  waited  a  second,  and  began 
again  — "  There  was  two  on  them  now,  disputin' 
an'  half-laughin',  half-cryin';  one  was  pullin'  the 
other  an'  tellin'  her  she  was  a  fool ;  there  wasn't 
no  King,  more's  the  jjity,  and  if  there  was  she 
wasn't  afraid  seein'  he  was  her  hdpddda ;  —  that's 
ancestors,  sir  —  but  the  t'other  wouldn't  hear  of  it, 
an'  kept  sayin'  'twas  well  enough  for  some  folk  as 
pretended  wisdom,  but  every  one  knew  the  King's 
footmark  on  the  stair  an'  had  heard  his  voice  after 
dusk.  My  friend  the  bull  toad,  thinks  I,  feelin' 
considerable  easier  in  my  mind,  for  I  knew  enough 
o'  their  ways  you  see,  sir,  to  know  as  there  wasn't 
much  chance  o'  any  one  else  comin'  down  my  stairs 


THE  king's  well  203 

if  a  ghost  lived  there  ;  so  I  listened  to  the  argufying 
quite  interested-like.  But  it  wasn't  no  good  —  the 
half-laughin'  voice  hadn't  a  chance  even  when  it 
grew  sober,  and  cried  shame  on  bein'  frightened  at 
the  spirit  of  the  good  King,  who  every  day  come 
down  to  his  hawly  all  alone,  so  that  any  pore  soul 
as  wanted  justice  might  go  down  the  other  stair 
and  tell  him  what  was  amiss  across  the  black  water 
with  no  fear.  '  If  he  was  only  there  now  instead 
o'  bein'  where  saints  are,'  I  heard  her  say,  '  I'd  go 
down  this  instant  an'  tell  him  to  stop  it  all — but 
there's  no  one  to  listen  nowadays  —  no  one.'  An' 
with  that  she  come  tinkling  down  the  steps  alone 
—  a  tall  girl,  sir — but,  there  —  'tain't  no  good  de- 
scribin'   her,  for   I   never  see   her   but  in    half-light 

till Well  I  she  just  rinsed  out  her  pot  like  the 

rest  o'  them  and  filled  it;  but  afore  she  went  she 
stood  so  Avith  it  on  her  head  on  the  t'other  side 
o'  the  black  water  for  a  moment,  an'  said  quite 
loud  an'  bold-like,  '  Salaam  Mdhd7'(tj.'  ^ 

"  I  was  that  wild  sort,  as  I  might  have  given  a 
bellow  just  to  frighten  her  for  the  fun  o'  the  thing, 
but  I  kept  somehow  a-thinkin'  o'  what  she  had  said 
of  the  old  King  a-trailin'  down  them  steps  in  his 
royal  robes,  and  listenin'  in  that  bawli/  to  all  the 
pore  folks'  troubles,  an'  a-promisin'  never  to  forsake 
them  but  to  bring  justice  with  him  down  the  stairs 
1  Greeting  or  peace  to  the  King. 


204 

to  the  end  o'  all  things.  Not  that  he  was  an  old 
King,  sir,  as  I  found  out  afterwards,  but  a  young 
sort  o'  saint,  as  got  killed  afore  his  time.  You  see 
I  heard  a  lot  o'  talk  from  the  women  as  came  down 
in  companies,  skeery,  and  just  in  a  mortal  hurry  to 
fill  their  jars  and  git  home  because  of  the  girl  as 
said  she  had  heard  the  King  in  the  daytime.  So 
that  it  came  to  me,  sir,  that  I  couldn't  do  better 
nor  lie  hidden  a  day  or  two  and  get  strong  where 
I  was,  for  there  wasn't  no  manner  o'  hurry.  Like 
as  not  I'd  get  killed  somehow  before  I  got  to  the 
river,  and  I  couldn't  help  anyways,  seein'  as  I 
couldn't  look  to  get  into  any  o'  the  places  where 
we  was  holdin'  out  against  the  black  devils.  An' 
that  evenin',  when  the  old  bull  toad  come  down  for 
his  swim,  I  just  laughed  again  quite  light-hearted, 
and  says  as  she  said,  '  Salaam  Mdhdrdj  I ' 

''  Well,  she  was  the  only  one  as  come  alone  after 
that,  but  come  she  did,  an'  every  time  she  come 
she  would  stand  an'  say  loud-like,  but  a  bit  wistful, 
'  Salaam  Mdhdrdj.' 

"She  was  a  tall  girl,  but  there  —  it  ain't  no  use 
describing  her. 

"  So  what  with  the  women  coming  all  together  I 
didn't  have  much  chance  o'  flapjacks,  and  what  with 
the  village  bein'  walled  in  an'  full  of  them  mur- 
derin'  nobility,  I  wasn't,  so  to  say,  successful  in 
tliievin',  an'  at  last  I  see  it  was  time  to  move  on. 


THE   king's    well  205 

A  bad  time,  too ;  for  I  heard  from  the  women's 
talk  as  there  was  crowds  o'  sepoys  about  a-screwin' 
the  pore  folks'  tails,  an'  I  heard  her  say  to  'em  once 
as  it  were  their  fault.  '  If  they  wasn't  so  frightened 
o'  the  King,'  said  she,  '  maybe  he'd  come  back  and 
give  'em  justice.'  An'  that  evenin'  when  she  come 
down  she  stood  so  with  her  arms  spread  out  lookin' 
up  the  stair  and  said  again,  bowing  down  after  their 
fashion,  '  Salaa7n  Mdhdrdj,  your  slave  waits ! ' 

"  There  was  a  pile  o'  flapjacks  on  the  platter 
beside  her  water-pot,  an'  maybe  it  was  the  sight  o' 
them,  and  knowin'  they  w^ould  be  Avorth  gold  to 
me,  or  maybe  because  it  was  my  last  time  o'  askin', 
or  maybe  the  devil  that  was  in  me,  but  I  just  out 
o'  my  rabbit  'utch,  in  my  baggy  silk  trousers  and 
dressing-gown  —  in  the  whole  blessed  killit^  sir  — 
and  stood  quite  still  on  the  steps.  It  was  most 
dark,  you  see,  sir,  an'  the  contours  was  correc',  so 
'twas  no  wonder  she  give  a  little  cry,  half-glad,  half- 
afraid,  as  she  come  up  from  her  salaam.  I  guessed 
she'd  run  and  leave  me  the  flapjacks,  but  she  wasn't 
that  sort.  A  tall  girl  —  but  there,  it  ain't  no  use 
describin'.  Well  afore  I  could  think  wdiat  to  do 
she  was  at  it ;  such  a  tale  o'  wrong,  sir,  not  about 
herself,  though  she  was  one  of  those  pore  souls  as 
is  born  widows,  but  about  Lord  knows  what  of  the 
people.  An'  I  listened.  Did  you  ever  listen,  sir, 
to  a  woman's  voice  just  chock  full  o'  confidence  in 


206  THE  king's  well 

your  bein'  a  good  sort  ?  Well,  I  did ;  an'  I  dunno 
how  'twas,  sir,  but  the  confidence  was  catchin'.  I 
was  a  reckless,  bold  chap,  you  see,  an'  I  knew  she 
had  grit,  so  the  next  moment  I  was  over  that  circle 
o'  black  water  and  beside  her.  She  give  another 
little  cry,  but,  my  Lord !  she  had  grit,  for  she  drew 
back  quick  against  the  wall  and  thrust  out  her 
hands  to  keep  me  off. 

"  '  The  King  !  the  King  ! '  she  said,  '  I  thought 
you  was  the  King ! ' 

"  An'  with  that  I  caught  her  by  the  hands.  '  I'm 
not  the  King,'  says  I,  '  but  don't  you  be  afraid,  I'm 
only  a  pore  man  as  won't  hurt  you.' 

" '  I'm  not  afraid,'  she  says,  tryin'  to  make  believe. 
'You  come  down  the  King's  stairs  o'  justice,'  she 
said,  'an'  that's  enough.' 

"  Then  somehow,  I  dunno  how  it  was,  sir,  but  all 
in  a  moment  it  come  home  to  me  that  I'd  go  my 
whole  pile  on  her,  an'  I  drop  her  hands  an'  I  says : 

" '  Yes !  I  come  down  the  King's  stairs,  and  I'll 
be  a  King  to  you  for  justice  if  you'll  be  a  Queen 
to  me.' 

"  And  by  God !  sir,  she  was. 

"  So  there  we  were,  lookin'  into  each  other's  eyes 
and  sajdn'  nothin',  till  she  gave  a  queer  little  laugh. 

" '  Why,'  she  says,  '  you're  a  wliite  man  ! '  and 
with  that  she  lay  her  finger  quick  and  confident 
on  my  wrist ;  an'  sure  enough,  what  with  the  swim 


THE  king's  well  207 

and  the  dark  it  were  white  indeed  —  white  an' 
shivery,  too,  with  the  touch  somehow,  so  that  I 
couldn't  but  keep  her  hand  so  and  say  : 

''  *  Yes,  my  dear,  Fm  white  and  you're  black  ;  I'm 
a  man  and  you're  a  woman,  but  it  shan't  make  no 
odds.  I'm  King  and  you're  Queen  in  this  here 
haiuly^  and  there  shan't  be  nothing  but  justice 
atween  us,  so  help  me,  God ! ' 

"  An'  there  wasn't,  sir.  No  !  though  we  went  our 
whole  pile  on  each  other,  I  do  assure  you,  sir." 

The  assurance  was  needless  ;  one  look  at  his  face 
was  enough  —  that  world- worn  face  with  its  blood- 
shot eyes,  fixed  on  the  dazzling  glory  of  the  sky 
as  if  they  saw  a  vision. 

"■  I  used  to  see  her  first  against  Je-rewsalem,"  he 
went  on  in  a  lower  tone.  "  Then  I  could  hear  her 
come  down  the  stairs  ever  so  soft  to  stand  close  to 
the  water's  edge  and  cry,  ^Salaam  Mdhdrdj'  —  for 
she  called  me  that,  just  for  fun,  you  see,  sir.  An' 
there  weren't  much  wistfulness  in  her  voice,  sir, 
mostly  laughter,  an'  somethin'  better  nor  laughter, 
when  I  come  leapin'  across  that  drop  o'  ink  to 
stand  beside  her  for  a  little,  an'  tell  her  —  what 
folks  say  to  each  other  Avhen  they've  set  their 
whole  pile  on  each  other,  you  know,  sir.  For  she 
wouldn't  never  come  down  the  King's  stairs,  sayin' 
it  was  unlucky  an'  Avhat  not.  Excuses,  sir,  but  I 
understood  'em  and  I  didn't  want  her,  for  you  see 


208  THE  king's  well 

it  was  justice  between  us  I'd  sworn,  and  I  was 
a  wild  lot.  She  had  told  her  father  —  a  blind  old 
Brahman,  sir,  awful  holy,  and  nigh  bedridden  too  — 
and  he  sent  word  to  say  stop  where  I  was.  The 
villagers  wouldn't  venture  down  the  stairs  either, 
and  if  they  did  wouldn't  harm  me,  being,  as 
I  say,  sir,  as  peaceable  a  lot  o'  able-bodied  men 
as  ever  was.  But  the  maraudin',  murderin'  crcAv 
in  the  big  hawelis  —  that's  houses,  sir  —  was  har- 
bouring those  mutinous  devils  of  Jack  Pandies, 
and  playin'  high  old  Tommy  for  miles  round,  so 
I'd  better  lie  low  till  justice  came  ;  as  it  'd  sure  to 
do  at  last,  seein'  that  the  Lord  Avas  King.  They 
talks  a  sight,  sir,  about  the  heathen  and  their 
ignorance,  but  I  do  assure  you  she  knew  a  deal 
more  nor  me ;  Avhat  with  being  of  a  king's  family 
an'  havin'  a  bedridden  saint  of  a  Brahman  for  a 
father.  An'  they  mayn't  know  much  book-learnin' 
p'r'aps,  but  some  of  'em  knows  hoAV  to  make  a  man 
put  his  whole  pile  on  them.  And  she  had  grit,  my 
Lord  !  she  had  grit ! 

"  Yet  there  Avas  a  catch  in  her  breath  that  evenin' 
Avhen  I  Avas  nigh  mad  Avith  fear,  lest  she  had  come 
to  harm  because  it  Avas  so  late,  and  hearing  her 
footfall  on  the  stair  I  leapt  over,  and  nearly  fell 
back  into  the  ink-pot  through  seein'  her  in  a  man's 
dress. 

'' '  I'd  rather  you  didn't  come  if  there's  danger,' 


THE  king's  well  209 

said  I  quite  sharp-like,  when  she  told  me  the 
sepoys  was  setting  watch  because  folk  said  the 
white  soldiers  were  a-coming.  '  Don't !  I  can't 
stand  it  here  in  the  dark,  idle,  thinkin'  o'  you  God 
knows  how.     I'll  fend  for  myself  quite  well.' 

"  An'  with  that  she  laughed  low  with  the  little 
catch  in  her  breath  still,  and  come  a  bit  closer  so 
as  I  could  slip  my  arm  round  her  a  little ;  an'  by 
that  I  knew  'twas  more  danger  than  she  let  on  — 
for  she  was  not  that  sort. 

"  '  Now  don't  you  come,'  says  I,  as  I  might  be 
the  King  himself  givin'  orders,  '  I  won't  have  it.  If 
the  soldiers  is  comin',  they'll  bring  justice,  an'  if  not 
a  little  starvin'  won't  hurt  me,  for  I'm  gettin'  quite 
strong  again.'  An'  so  I  was,  sir,  what  with  the  rest 
and  the  food  an'  the  happiness.  For  I  do  assure 
you,  sir,  on  my  solemn  oath,  that  I  was  happy  at 
the  bottom  o'  that  King's  hawly.  Happy?  By 
the  Lord  !  sir,  'twas  enough  to  make  a  man  happy 
to  see  the  look  she  gave  me,  as  much  as  to  say 
I  was  strong  enough  and  everything  enough  for 
her  ;  for  though  it  was  nigh  dark  I  could  see  her 
face  from  its  bein'  so  close  to  mine  —  she  bein'  a  tall 
girl  —  but  there,  it  ain't  no  use  describin'.  There 
don't  seem  much  to  say,  sir,  when  it  comes  to 
lookin'  at  each  other  that  way,  an'  so  we  stood 
silent  a  bit,  till  sudden  I  hear  the  old  bull  toad  at 
his  jinks  again,  and  partly  to  ease  off   the  sort  o' 


210  THE   king's   well 

burstin'  feelin'  at  my  heart  I  cries  with  a  laugh, 
'  There's  the  King  ! ' 

"  But  she  just  lays  her  head  clown,  pugree  an' 
all,  on  my  shoulder  and  says  with  a  sob,  '  No,  here's 
the  King.     The  King  as  I  come  to  for  justice.' 

He  paused  for  so  long,  that  something  of  the 
excitement  which  had  been  thrilling  in  his  tones 
seemed  to  pass  into  my  mind,  and  I  felt  almost  a 
shock  when  he  went  on  quite  calmly: 

"  Well,  it  was  arranged  that  she  wasn't  to  come 
back  for  three  days  onless  somethin'  turned  up. 
I  would  have  it  so,  an'  she  give  in  at  last.  It 
was  mortal  dull  without  her,  and  I  made  up  my 
mind  when  I  see  her  again  to  tell  her  I'd  back 
my  luck  once  more,  and  fight  my  way  safe  some- 
how. Then  when  it  was  over  I'd  come  back  for 
her  ;  for  it  didn't  seem  it  could  go  against  me  as 
I  sat  down  by  the  drop  o'  ink  a-lookin'  up  to 
Je-rewsalem  over  the  way,  and  a-wonderin'  when  I 
should  see  her  on  the  top  step  a-comin'  for  jus- 
tice to  her  King. 

"Well,  she  come  at  last.  It  were  the  second 
day,  I  think,  sir,  and  it  took  me  all  of  a  sudden, 
for,  owin'  to  its  bein'  a  hawly  in  the  bowels  in 
the  yerth  you  couldn't  hear  nothin'  of  what  was 
goin'  on  up  top.  I  Avas  sittin'  lookin'  over  the 
way  when  I  hear  a  noise  behind  an'  a  voice,  '  Md- 
hdrdj  !  Mdhdrdj  ! ' 


THE    king's    well  211 

"It  was  she,  sir,  clown  tlie  King's  steps  in 
the  man's  dress,  an'  behind  her,  my  God  !  not 
black  devils  but  white  ones  with  red  coats  an' 
set  bayonets  !  —  '  Mdhdrdj  !  Mdhdrdj  !  Justice  ! 
Justice  ! ' 

"I  was  out,  sir,  tearing  up  to  meet  her  in  a 
second,  shoutin'  in  English  to  hold  hard  —  that 
she  was  a  woman  ;  but  them  cursed  haivly  echoes 
mixed  it  all  up,  an'  the  cursed  baggy  trousers 
and  things,  didn't  give  me  no  chance  of  a-hearin' 

through  its  bein'  half-dark 

^'^ Mdhdrdj!  Mdhdrdj!' 

"I  heard  it  plain  enough,  God  knows.  I  hear 
it  now  sometimes,  sir,  an'  I  see  her  face  as  I  saw 
it  for  the  only  time  in  the  light  afore  I  fell  over 
her  dead  body  a-lying  on  the  steps  half-way  down 
the  stairs  o'  justice. 

"  They  told  me  after,  as  I  had  finished  the  cry 
for  her  many  and  many  a  time  whilst  I  lay  in 
'orspital  —  for  they'd  struck  me  playful-like  before 
they  found  out  I  was  white,  an'  I  took  mortal 
bad  ;  but  there  wasn't  much  use  in  justice  then 
for  none  o'  us.  An'  I  never  could  tell  quite  how 
it  happened,  for  when  I  went  back  the  village 
was  just  bricks,  and  the  corpses  lyin'  about  thick, 
unburied.  They  had  had  a  hard  fight  as  they 
told  me,  had  the  Tommies,  an'  bein'  fresh  from 
Cawnpore  was  keen  —  as  was  nat'ral  —  an'  she  was 


212  THE  king's  well 

in   man's   clothes,    you   see,    when   she   come   flyin 
down  the  steps  o'  justice  calling  for  the  King." 
****** 

He  sat  silent,  looking  out  to  the  now  darkening 
sky  where  the  light  had  faded  save  in  the  widen- 
ing rays  spreading  out  from  the  grave  of  the 
sun.  And  down  one  of  them,  as  down  a  golden 
staircase,  I  seemed  to  see  a  flying  figure  with 
outstretched  arms  pass  to  Jerusalem  the  Golden 
with  the  cry  '' Mdhdrdj !  Mdlidrdj!'' 

But  Craddock  was  already  clearing  his  throat 
suggestively  for  the  usual  glass  of  whisky  and 
water  ;  yet  ere  he  drank  it  his  eyes  wandered 
absently,  helplessly,  to  the  horizon,  and  I  heard 
him  mutter  to  himself  : 

''  An'  so  'twas  Avhite,  not  black,  as  did  for  Na- 
thaniel James  Craddock  at  the  bottom  o'  the 
King's  Well." 

And  as  I  looked  at  him  drink-sodden  and  reck- 
less, I  understood  that  when  the  time  came  he  too 
would  have  the  right  to  pass  down  the  King's 
stair  seeking  justice  —  and  finding  it. 


UMA   HIMAYUTEE 


Uma-devi  was  sitting  on  a  heap  of  yellow 
wheat,  which  showed  golden  against  the  silvery 
surface  of  her  husband's  threshing-floor.  She  was 
a  tall  woman,  of  about  five  and  twenty,  with  a  fair, 
fine-cut  face,  set  in  a  perfect  oval  above  the  mas- 
sive column  of  her  throat.  She  was  a  Brahmani 
of  the  Suruswutee  tribe  — in  other  words,  a  mem- 
ber of  perhaps  tiie  most  ancient  Aryan  colony  in 
India,  which  long  ages  back  settled  down  to  culti- 
vate the  Hurreana,  or  "green  country";  so  called, 
no  doubt,  before  its  sacred  river,  the  Suruswutee, 
lost  itself  in  the  dry  deserts  west  of  Delhi  ;  a  mem- 
ber, therefore,  of  a  community  older  than  Brahman- 
ism  itself,  and  which  clings  oddly  to  older  faiths, 
older  ways,  and  older  gods.  So  Uma-devi,  who 
was  on  the  rack  of  that  jealousy  which  comes  to 
most  women,  whether  they  be  ignorant  or  cultured, 
had  the  advantage  over  most  of  the  latter  :  she 
could  look  back  through  the  ages  to  a  more  in- 
spiring and  stimulating  progenitrix  than  Mother 
Eve.     For,  despite   the   pharisaical   little    hymn   of 

213 


214  UMA   HIMAVUTEE 

Western  infancy  bidding  us  thank  goodness  for 
our  birth  and  inheritance  of  knowledge,  one  can 
scarcely  be  grateful  for  a  typical  woman  simpering 
over  an  apple,  or  subsequently  sighing  over  the 
difficulties  of  dress.  The  fact  being  that  our  story 
of  Creation  only  begins  when  humanity,  fairly 
started  on  the  Rake's  Progress,  felt  the  necessity 
for  bolstering  up  its  self-respect  by  the  theory  of 
original  sin. 

But  this  woman  could  dimly,  through  the  numb 
pain  of  her  heart,  feel  the  influence  of  a  nobler 
Earth-mother  in  Uma  Himavutee  —  Uma  her  name- 
sake—  Uma  of  the  Himalayas,  birthplace  of  all 
sacred  things  —  Uma  of  the  sunny  yet  snowy  peaks, 
emblem  at  once  of  perfect  wifehood,  motherhood, 
and  that  mystical  virginity  which,  in  Eve-ridden 
faiths,  finds  its  worship  in  Mariolatry. 

That  she  could  even  dimly  recognise  the  beauty 
of  this  conception  came  partly  from  the  simple  yet 
ascetic  teachings  of  her  race  ;  partly  because  there 
are  some  natures.  East  and  West,  which  turn  in- 
stinctively to  Uma  Himavutee,  and  this  Avoman 
among  yellow  corn  was  of  that  goodly  company. 

Yet  a  sharp  throb  of  sheer  animal  jealousy  — 
the  jealousy  which  in  most  civilised  communities 
is  considered  a  virtue  when  sanctified  by  the  bonds 
of  matrimony  —  seemed  to  tear  her  heart  as  her 
hands  paused  in  her   patient   darning  of   gold-col- 


UMA    HIMAVUTEE  215 

ourecl  silk  on  dull  madder-red  stuff,  and  lier  eyes 
sought  the  figure  of  a  man  outlined  against  the 
dull  red  horizon. 

It  was  Shiv-deo,  her  husband,  returning  from 
his  work  in  the  fields. 

She  folded  up  her  work  methodically,  leaving 
the  needle  with  its  pennant  of  floss  still  twined 
deftly  in  and  out  of  the  threads  as  a  mark  to  show 
where  to  take  up  the  appointed  pattern  once  more. 
For  Uma-devi's  work  was  quaintly  illustrative  of 
her  life,  being  done  from  the  back  of  the  stuff 
and  going  on  laboriously,  conscientiously,  trustfully, 
without  reference  to  the  unseen  golden  diaper  slowly 
growing  to  beauty  on  the  other  side  of  the  cloth. 
That  remained  as  a  reward  to  tired  eyes  and  fin- 
gers when  the  toil  was  over,  and  the  time  came 
to  piece  the  whole  web  into  a  garment  —  a  wed- 
ding veil,  perchance,  for  her  daughter,  had  she 
had  one.     But  Uma  was  childless. 

Yet  there  was  no  reproach,  no  discontent  in 
her  husband's  fine  beardless  face  as  he  came  up 
to  her ;  for  he  happened  —  despite  the  barbarous 
marriage  customs  of  his  race  —  to  love  his  wife 
as  she  loved  him. 

They  were  a  handsome  pair  truly,  much  of  an 
age,  tall,  strong,  yet  of  a  type  as  refined-looking 
as  any  in  the  world.  At  their  feet  lay  the  heaps 
of  wheat;    beyond  them,  around  them,   that  limit- 


216  UMA    HIMAVUTEE 

less  plain  which  once  seen  holds  the  imagination 
captive  for  ever  whether  the  recollection  be  of  a 
sea  of  corn,  or,  as  now,  of  stretches  of  brown 
earth  bare  of  all  save  the  dead  sources  of  a  gath- 
ered harvest.  To  one  side,  a  mile  or  so  away, 
the  piled  mud  village  was  girdled  by  a  golden 
haze  of  dust  which  sprang  from  the  feet  of  the 
homing  cattle. 

''  I  saw  one  with  thee  but  now,"  he  said,  as 
half-mechanically  he  stooped  to  gather  up  a  hand- 
ful of  the  wheat  and  test  it  between  finger  and 
thumb.  "  Gossip  Radha  by  her  bulk  —  and  by 
thy  face,  wife.  What  new  crime  hath  the  village 
committed  ?  What  new  calamity  befallen  the 
part-owners  ?  Sure,  even  her  tongue  could  say 
naught  against  the  harvest !  " 

"  Naught  !  thanks  be  to  the  Lord ! "  replied 
Uma  briefly.  "Now,  since  thou  hast  come  to 
watch,  I  will  go  bring  the  water  and  see  Baha-jee  ^ 
hath  his  dinner.  I  will  return  ere  long  and  set 
thee  free." 

"Thou  hast  a  busy  life,"  he  said  suddenly  as 
if  the  fact  struck  him  newly.  "  There  are  too 
few  of  us  for  the  work." 

The  woman  turned  from  him  suddenly  to  look 
out  to  the  horizon  beyond  the  level  fields. 

"  Ay  !  there  are  too  few  of  us,"  she  echoed 
i  Honorific  title  for  a  father. 


TJMA   HIMAVUTEE  217 

with  an  effort,  ''but  I  will  be  back  ere  the  light 
goes." 

Too  few  !  Yes,  too  few.  She  had  known  that 
for  some  time ;  and  if  it  were  so  in  their  yonth 
and  strength,  what  wonld  it  be  in  the  old  age 
which  must  come  upon  them  as  it  had  upon  the 
Baba-jee,  who,  as  she  passed  in  to  the  wide  court- 
yard in  order  to  fetch  the  big  brazen  water  vessel, 
nodded  kindly,  asking  where  his  son  had  lingered. 

''He  watchss  the  corn  heaps  till  I  return.  It 
must  be  so,  since  there  are  so  few  of  us." 

The  nod  changed  to  a  shake,  and  the  cheerful 
old  voice  trembled  a  little  over  the  echo. 

"Ay!  there  are  few  of  us." 

All  the  way  down  to  the  shallow  tank,  set,  as 
it  were,  in  a  crackle-edge  of  a  sun-baked  mud, 
the  phrase  re-echoed  again  and  again  in  Uma- 
devi's  brain  till  it  seemed  written  large  through 
her  own  eyes  in  the  faces  of  the  village  women 
passing  to  and  fro  with  their  water-pots.  They 
knew  it  also  ;  they  said  it  to  themselves,  though 
as  yet  none  had  dared  —  save  Mai  Radha,  with 
her  cowardly  hints  —  to  say  to  her  that  the  time 
had  come  when  the  few  ought  to  be  made  more. 
Ah  I  if  Shiv-deo's  younger  brother  had  not  died  be- 
fore his  child-wife  was  of  age  to  be  brought  home, 
this  need  not  have  been.  Though,  even  then,  a 
virtuous  woman  for  her  husband's  sake  ought 


218  UMA    HIMAVUTEE 

Uma-devi,  clown  by  the  water-edge,  as  if  to 
escape  from  her  own  thoughts,  turned  hastily 
to  spread  the  corner  of  her  veil  over  the  wide 
mouth  of  the  brazen  pot  and  with  a  smaller  cup 
began  to  ladle  the  muddy  water  on  to  the 
strainer.  But  the  thought  was  passionate,  insist- 
ent. Ought  !  What  was  the  use  of  prating 
about  ought  ?  She  could  not,  she  would  not  let 
Shivo  take  another  woman  by  the  hand.  How 
could  they  ask  her,  still  young,  still  beautiful, 
still  beloved,  to  give  him  another  bride  ?  Why, 
it  would  be  her  part  to  lift  the  veil  from  the  new 
beauty,  as  she  lifted  it  from  the  now  brimming 
water-pot  —  so 

Uma  Himavutee  !  what  did  she  see  ?  Her  own 
face  reflected  in  the  brass-ringed  water,  as  in  a 
mirror  set  in  a  golden  frame !  Clear  as  in  any 
mirror  her  own  beauty  —  the  lips  Shivo  had  kissed 
—  the  eyes  which  held  him  so  dear;  all,  all,  un- 
changed. Ah  !  but  it  was  impossible  I  That  was 
what  the  pious  old  folk  preached  —  what  the  pious 
young  folk  pretended.  She  poised  the  brazen  vessel 
on  her  head,  telling  herself  passionately  it  was  im- 
possible. Yet  the  sight  of  the  wide  courtyard, 
empty  save  for  Baha-jee  creeping  about  to  feed 
the  milch  kine  and  do  what  he  could  of  woman's 
work,  revived  that  refrain  6f  self-reproach,  "There 
are  too  few  of   us."     Shivo  himself   had  said  it  — 


UMA    HIMAVUTEE  219 

for  the  first  time  it  is  true,  but  would  it  be  the 
hast?  Wherefore?  since  it  was  true.  She  set 
down  the  water-pot  and  began  to  rekindle  the  ashes 
on  the  hearth,  thinking  stupidly  of  that  reflection 
of  her  own  face.  But  water  was  like  a  man's 
heart;  it  could  hold  more  faces  than  one. 

''Ari,  half  sister,"  called  Mai  Radha,  pausing  at 
the  open  doorway  to  look  in  and  see  the  house- 
mistress  clapping  unleavened  bread  between  her 
palms  with  the  hot  haste  of  one  hard  pressed  for 
time.  ''  Thou  hast  no  rest ;  but  one  woman  is 
lost  in  these  courts.  I  mind  when  thy  mother- 
in-law  lived  and  there  were  young  things  grow- 
ing up  in  each  corner.  That  is  as  it  should 
be." 

A  slow  flush  darkened  Uma's  face.  "  Young 
things  come  quick  enough  when  folks  will,"  she 
retorted  passionately.  "  Give  me  but  a  year's 
grace,  gossip,  and  I,  Uma-devi,  will  fill  the  yard 
too  —  if  I  wish  it  filled.  Ay  !  and  without  asking 
thy  help  either." 

It  was  intolerable  that  this  woman  with  her 
yearly,  endless  babies  should  come  and  crow  over 
the  childless  hearth.  Yet  she  was  right ;  and 
again  the  old  sickening  sense  of  failure  replaced 
the  flash  of  indignant  forgetfulness. 

"  Heed  not  my  food,  daughter,"  came  the  cheer- 
ful  contented    old  voice.     "  I    can  cook  mine  own 


220  VMA.   HIMAVUTEE 

and  Shivo  must  need  his  after  the  day's  toil.  If 
thou  take  it  to  him  at  the  threshing-floor  'twill 
save  time;  when  hands  are  few  the  minutes  are 
as  jewels  and  it  grows  dark  already.  Thou  wilt 
need  a  cresset  for  safety  from  the  snakes." 

Once  more  the  woman  winced.  That  was  true 
also ;  yet  had  she  been  doing  her  duty  and  bringing 
sons  to  the  hearth  it  would  not  have  been  so,  for 
the  glory  of  coming  motherhood  would  have  driven 
the  serpents  from  her  path.^ 

She  paused  at  the  doorstep  to  give  a  backward 
glance,  to  see  the  old  man  already  at  his  woman's 
work,  and  her  heart  smote  her  again.  Was  it 
seemly  work  for  the  most  learned  man  in  the 
village  who  had  taught  his  son  to  be  so  good, 
so  kind?  Yet  Shivo  of  himself  would  never  say 
the  word,  neither  would  the  old  man.  That  was 
the  worst  of  it;  for  it  would  have  been  easier  to 
have  kicked  against  the  pricks. 

She  passed  swiftly  to  the  fields,  the  brass  platter 
—  glittering  under  the  flicker  of  the  cresset  and 
piled  with  dough  cakes  and  a  green  leaf  of  curds  — 
poised  gracefully  on  her  right  palm,  the  brass  lotah 
of  drinking  water  hanging  from  her  left  hand, 
the  heavy  folds  of  her  gold  and  madder  draperies 
swaying  as  she  walked.  It  was  not  yet  quite  dark. 
A  streak  of  red  light  lingered  in  the  horizon,  though 
1  A  common  belief  in  India. 


UMA   HIMAVUTEE  221 

overhead  the  stars  began  to  twinkle,  matched  in 
the  dim  stretch  of  shadowy  pLain  by  the  twin- 
kling lights  showing  one  by  one  from  the  threshing- 
floors.  But  Shiv-deo's  was  still  dark,  because  there 
had  been  no  one  to  bring  him  a  lamp.  She  gave 
an  angry  laugh,  set  her  teeth  and  stepped  quicker. 
If  it  came  to  that,  she  had  better  speak  at  once  ; 
speak  now  —  to-night  —  before  Mai  Radha  or  some 
one  else  had  a  chance  —  speak  out  in  the  open 
where  there  were  no  spies  to  see  —  to  hear. 

It  was  a  clear  night,  she  thought,  for  sure  ;  and, 
despite  the  red  warning,  giving  promise  of  a  clear 
dawn.  One  of  those  dawns,  maybe,  when,  like  a 
pearl-edged  cloud,  the  far  distant  Himalayas  would 
hang  on  the  northern  horizon  during  the  brief  twi- 
light and  vanish  before  the  glare  of  day.  Ai  !  Mai 
Uma  must  be  cold  up  there  in  the  snows  ! 

And  Shivo  must  be  hungry  by  this  time ;  watch- 
ing, perhaps,  the  twinkling  light  she  carried  come 
nearer  and  nearer. 

The  thought  pleased  her,  soothing  her  simple 
heart,  and  the  placid  routine  of  her  life  came  to  aid 
her  as  she  set  the  platter  before  her  husband  rev- 
erently with  the  signs  of  worship  she  would  have 
yielded  a  god.  Were  they  not,  she  and  Shivo, 
indissolubly  joined  together  for  this  world  and  the 
next  ?  Was  not  a  good  woman  redemption's  source 
to   her   husband?      Baha-jee    had   read   that   many 


222  UMA    HIMAVUTEE 

times  from  his  old  books.  So  she  felt  no  degra- 
dation as  she  set  the  water  silently  by  Shivo's 
right  hand,  scooped  a  hollow  in  the  yellow  wheat 
for  the  flickering  cresset  and  then  drew  apart  into 
the  shadows  leaving  the  man  alone  to  perform 
the  ritual  in  that  little  circle  of  light.  He  was 
her  husband  ;  that  was  enough. 

With  her  chin  upon  both  her  hands  she  crouched 
on  another  pile  of  corn  and  watched  him  with  sad 
eyes.  Far  and  near  all  was  soft,  silent  darkness 
save  for  those  twinkling  stars  shining  in  heaven 
and  matched  on  earth.  Far  and  near  familiar  peace, 
familiar  certainty.  Even  that  pain  at  her  heart  ? 
Had  not  others  felt  it  and  set  it  aside  ?  The  calm 
endurance  of  her  world,  its  disregard  of  pain, 
seemed  to  change  her  own  smart  to  a  dull  ache, 
as  her  eyes  followed  every  movement  of  the  man 
who  loved  her. 

"  Thou  art  silent,  wife,"  he  said,  kind  wonder 
in  his  tone,  when,  the  need  for  silence  being  over, 
she  still  sat  without  a  word. 

That  roused  her.    Silent!  yea!    silent  for  too  long. 

She  rose  suddenly  and  stood  before  him,  tall 
and  straight  in  the  circle  of  light.  Then  her  voice 
came  clear  without  a  tremble. 

"There  are  too  few  of  us  in  the  house,  husband. 
We  must  have  more.  We  must  have  young  hands 
when  ours  are  old." 


UMA    HIMAVUTEE  223 

He  stood  up  in  his  turn  stretching  his  hands 
towards  her. 

"  Uma!  say  not  so,"  he  faltered,  "  I  want  no  more." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  The  fields  want   them  ;     and    even    thou " 

Then  her  calm  broke,  dissolved,  disappeared,  like 
a  child's  sand  barrier  before  the  tide.  She  flung 
lier  arms  skyward  and  her  voice   came  like  a  cry. 

"Ask  her  —  ask  thy  sister  —  let  her  do  all.  I 
cannot.  And  she  —  she  must  come  from  afar,  Shivo, 
from  far  !     Not  from  here  —  lest  Mai  Radha " 

She  broke  off,  turned  and  flung  herself  face  down 
in  the  corn  silently,  clutching  at  it  with  her  hand. 

Shiv-deo  stood  looking  out  over  the  shadowy 
fields. 

''  They  need  them  surely,"  he  said  softly  after  a 
time,  "  and  my  father  has  a  right " 

He  paused,  stooped,  and  laid  a  timid  touch  on 
the  woman's  shoulder. 

"  Yea  I    she  shall  come  from  far,  wife,  from  far." 

Then  there  was  silence ;    far  and  near. 

II 

There  was  no  lack  of  life  now  in  the  Avide  court- 
yards, though  the  year  claimed  by  Uma's  pride  had 
scarcely  gone  by.  And  there  was  more  to  come 
ere  the  sunset,  if  the  gossips  said  sooth  as  they 
passed  in  and  out,  setting  the  iron  knife  (suspended 


224  UMA   HIMAYTJTEE 

on  a  string  above  the  inner  door)  a-swinging  as 
they  elbowed  it  aside.  From  within  came  a  babel 
of  voices,  striving  to  speak  softly  and  so  sinking 
into  a  sort  of  sibilant  hiss,  broken  by  one  querulous 
cry  of  intermittent  complaint.  Without,  in  the 
bigger  courtyard  was  a  cackle  and  clamour,  joyfully 
excited,  round  a  platter  of  sugar-drops  set  for  due 
refreshment  of  the  neighbours.  It  would  be  a  boy, 
for  sure,  they  said,  the  omens  being  all  propitious 
and  Purm-eshwar^  well  aware  of  the  Avorthiness  of 
the  household.  But,  good  lack  !  what  ways  foreign 
women  had !  There  was  tlie  girl's  mother,  disre- 
garding this  old  custom,  performing  that  new  mum- 
mery as  if  there  were  no  canon  of  right  and  wrong ; 
yet  they  were  —  those  town  women  —  of  the  race, 
doubtless  of  the  same  race  !  It  was  passing  strange  ; 
nevertheless  Uma  herself  did  bravely,  having  always 
been  of  the  wise  sort.  She  had  given  the  word 
back  keenly  but  now  to  Mai  Radlia  who,  as  usual, 
had  her  pestle  in  the  mortar,  and  must  needs  join 
in  the  strange  woman's  hints  that  the  first  wife 
was  better  away  from  the  sufferer's  sight.  Pura- 
mesh  I  What  an  idea !  She  had  spoken  sharp  and 
fair,  as  was  right,  seeing  that  it  Avas  hard  above  the 
common  on  Uma  —  so  young,  so  handsome,  so  Avell- 
beloved !  Many  a  pious  one  in  her  place,  with  no 
mother-in-law  to  deal  Avith  —  only  two  soft-hearted, 
1  The  Universal  God. 


UMA    HIMAVUTEE  225 

sof t -tongued  men  —  would  have  closed  the  door  on 
another  wedding  yet  awhile,  and  bided  on  Provi- 
dence longer.  Small  blame  either.  It  was  not  ten 
3^ears  since  those  two  had  come  together ;  while  as 
for  affection 

The  rush  of  words  slackened  as  the  object  of  it 
set  the  swinging  knife  aside,  and  came  forward  to 
see  that  naught  was  lacking  to  the  hospitality  of 
the  house.  With  those  strange  women  within,  lord- 
ing it  over  all  hy  virtue  of  their  relationship  to 
the  expectant  mother,  it  behoved  her  honour  to  see 
that  there  was  no  possible  ground  for  complaint. 
It  was  a  year  since  Uma  had  flung  herself  face 
down  upon  the  wheat,  and  now  the  yellow  corn 
once  more  la}^  in  heaps  upon  the  white  tlireshing- 
floor.  Another  liarvest  had  been  sown  and  watered 
and  reaped;  but  Uma  was  waiting  for  hers.  And 
her  mind  was  in  a  tumult  of  jealous  fear.  Shivo 
Avith  all  his  goodness,  his  kindness  to  her,  could 
scarcely  help  loving  the  mother  of  his  child  better 
than  the  woman  who  had  failed  to  bring  him  one. 
How  could  she  take  that  other  woman's  son  in  her 
arms  and  hold  it  up  for  the  father's  first  look  ? 
Yet  that  would  be  her  part. 

The  strain  of  the  thought  showed  in  her  face  as 
she  moved  about  seeing  to  this  and  that,  speaking 
to    those    other   women    serenely,    cheerfully.      Her 
pride  ensured  so  much, 
<^ 


226  UMA   HIMAVUTEE 

Within,  the  coming  grandmother  heaved  a  very 
purposeful  sigh  of  relief  at  her  absence.  The  pa- 
tient would  be  better  now  that  those  glowering  eyes 
were  away.  Whereat  Mai  Radha,  the  time-server, 
nodded  her  head  sagely ;  but  the  girlish  voice  from 
the  bed,  set  round  with  lamps  and  flowers,  rose  in 
fretful  denial. 

"■  Hold  thy  peace,  mother.  Thou  canst  not  un- 
derstand, being  of  the  town.  It  is  different  here 
in  the  village." 

The  mother  giggled,  nudging  her  neighbour. 
"  Nine  to  credit,  ten  to  debit !  That's  true  of  a 
first  wife,  town  and  country.  But  think  as  thou 
wilt,  honey  !  Trust  me  to  see  she  throws  no  evil 
eye  on  thee  or  the  child.  She  shall  not  even  see 
it  till  the  fateful  days  be  over." 

The  village  midwife,  an  old  crone  sitting  smok- 
ing a  pipe  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  laughed. 

"  Thou  art  out  there,  mother !  "lis  her  part, 
her  right,  to  show  the  babe  to  its  father.  That 
is  old  fashion  and  we  hold  to  it." 

"  Show  it  to  its  father !  Good  lack  !  Heard 
one  ever  the  like  I  "  shrilled  the  indignant  grand- 
mother to  be.  ''Why,  with  us  he  must  not  see  it 
for  days.     Is  it  not  so,  friends?" 

The  town-bred  contingent  clamoured  shocked  as- 
sent ;  the  midwife  and  her  cronies  stood  firm.  Uma, 
appealed  to  by  a  deputation,  met  the  quarrel  coldly. 


UMA   HIMAVUTEE  227 

"I  care  not,"  she  said;  "settle  it  as  you  please. 
I  am  ready  to  hold  the  child  or  not." 

So  a  compromise  was  effected  between  the  dis- 
putants within,  before  the  beating  of  brass  trays 
announced  the  happy  birth  of  a  son,  and  they 
came  trooping  into  the  outer  court  full  of  words 
and  explanations.  But  Uma  heard  nothing  and 
saw  nothing  except  the  crying,  frog-like  morsel 
of  humanity  they  thrust  into  her  unwilling  arms. 
So  that  was  Shivo's  child  !  How  ugly,  and  what 
an  ill-tempered  little  thing.  Suddenly  the  gur- 
gling cry  ceased,  as  instinctively  she  folded  her 
veil  about  the  struggling,  naked  limbs. 

"  So  !  So  !  "  cried  the  gossips,  pushing  and  pull- 
ing joyfully,  excitedly.  "  Yonder  is  the  master  ! 
All  is  ready." 

She  set  her  teeth  for  the  ordeal  and  let  herself 
be  thrust  towards  Shivo,  who  was  seated  by  the 
door,  his  back  towards  her.  She  had  not  seen  him 
since  the  advent  of  the  gossips  at  dawn  had  driven 
the  men-kind  from  the  homestead.  And  now  the 
sun  was  setting  redly,  as  on  that  evening  a  year 
ago  when  she  had  told  him  they  were  too  few  for 
the  house.  Well,  there  were  more  now.  And  this 
was  the  worst.  Now  she  was  to  see  love  grow  to 
his  face  for  the  child  which  was  not  hers,  knowing 
that  love  for  its  mother  must  grow  also  unseen 
in  his  heart. 


228  UMA    HIMAVUTEE 

"  So  !  So  !  "  cried  the  busy,  unsympathetic  voices 
intent  on  their  own  plans.  "  Hold  the  child  so, 
sister,  above  his  shoulders,  and  bid  him  take  his 
first  look  at  a  son." 

The  old  dogged  determination  to  leave  nothing 
undone  which  should  be  done,  strengthened  her 
to  raise  the  baby  as  she  was  bid,  stoop  with  it 
over  Shivo's  shoulder  and  say,  almost  coldly  : 

"  I  bring  thee  thy  son,  husband.  Look  on  it 
and  take  its  image  to  thine  heart." 

Then  she  gave  a  quick,  incredulous  cry  ;  for, 
as  she  stooped,  she  saw  her  own  face  reflected  in 
the  brass-ringed  mirror  formed  by  the  wide  mouth 
of  the  brimming  water-pot,  which  was  set  on  the 
floor  before  Shiv-deo  ! 

"  Higher  !  sister  !  higher,"  cried  the  groups. 
"  Let  him  see  the  babe  in  the  water  for  luck's 
sake.  So  !  Ari!  father,  is  not  that  a  son  indeed! 
Wah!  the  sweetest  doll." 

Sweet  enough,  in  truth,  looked  the  reflection  of 
that  tiny  face  where  her  own  had  been.  Slie  let 
it  stay  there  for  a  second  or  two;  then  a  sudden 
curiosity  came  to  her  and  she  drew  aside  almost 
roughly,  still  keeping  her  eyes  on  the  water- 
mirror.  Ah!  there  was  her  husband's  face  now, 
with  a  look  in  it  that  she  had  never  seen  before 
—  the  look  of  fatherhood. 

Without   a   word    she    thrust    her   burden   back 


UMA    HIMAVUTEE  229 

into  other  arms,  asking  impatiently  if  that  were 
all,  or  if  they  needed  more  of  her  services. 

"More  indeed,"  muttered  the  grandmother 
tartly  as  she  disappeared  again,  intent  on  sugar 
and  spices,  behind  the  swinging  knife.  "  Sure 
some  folk  had  small  labour  or  pains  over  this 
day's  good  work.  Lucky  for  the  master  that 
there  be  other  women  in  the  world." 

Uma  looked  after  her  silently,  beset  by  a  great 
impatience  of  the  noise  and  the  congratulations. 
She  wanted  to  get  away  from  it  all,  from  those 
Avhispers  and  giggles  heard  from  within,  and 
interrupted  every  now  and  then  by  that  new 
gurgling  cry.  The  excitement  was  over,  the 
gossips  were  departing  one  by  one,  Shivo  and 
his  father  were  being  dragged  off  to  the  village 
square  for  a  pipe  of  peace  and  thanksgiving.  No 
one  wanted  her  now;  her  part  in  the  house  was 
done,  and  out  yonder  in  the  gathering  twilight 
the  lieaps  of  corn  were  alone ;  as  she  was.  She 
could  at  least  see  to  their  safety  for  a  while  and 
have  time  to  remember  those  faces ;  hers,  and  the 
child's,  and  Shivo's. 

Well !  it  was  all  over  now.  No  wonder  they 
did  not  need  her  any  more  since  she  had  done 
all  —  yea !  she  had  done  her  duty  to  the  utter- 
most ! 

A    sort   of    passionate    resentment    at    her    own 


230  UMA   HIMAVUTEE 

virtue  filled  her  mind  as,  wearied  out  with  the 
physical  strain,  she  lay  down  to  rest  upon  the 
yielding  yellow  wheat.  How  soft  it  was,  how 
cool.  She  nestled  into  it,  head,  hands,  feet,  gain- 
ing a  certain  consolation  from  the  mere  comfort 
to  her  tired  body.  And  as  she  looked  out  over 
her  husband's  fields,  the  very  knowledge  that  the 
harvest  had  been  reaped  and  gathered  soothed 
her ;  besides,  in  the  years  to  come  there  would 
be  other  hands  for  other  harvests.  That  was  also 
as  it  should  be.  And  yet?  She  turned  her  face 
down  into  the  wheat. 

"  Shivo  !  Shivo ! "  she  sobbed  into  the  fruits 
of  the  harvest  which  she  had  helped  to  sow  and 
gather.     "  Shivo  !  Shivo  !  " 

But  to  her  creed  marriage  had  for  its  object 
the  preservation  of  the  hearth  fire,  not  the  fire 
of  passion,  and  the  jealousy  which  is  a  virtue  to 
the  civilised  was  a  crime  to  this  barbarian. 

So,  as  she  lay  half-hidden  in  the  harvested  corn, 
the  thought  of  the  baby's  face,  and  hers,  and 
Shivo's  —  all,  all  in  the  water-mirror,  brought  her 
in  a  confused  half-comprehending  way  a  certain 
comfort  from  their  very  companionship.  So,  by 
degrees,  the  strain  passed  from  mind  and  body, 
leaving  her  asleep,  with  slackened  curves,  upon 
the  heap  of  corn.  Asleep  peacefully  until  a  hand 
touched     her    shoulder    gently,    and    in     the    soft 


UMA    HIMAVUTEE  231 

grey  dawn  she  saw  her  husband  standmg  beside 
her. 

She  rose  slowly,  drawing  her  veil  closer  with 
a  shiver,  for  the  air  was  chill. 

"I  have  been  seeking  thee  since  nightfall, 
wife,"  he  said  in  gentle  reproach,  with  a  ring  of 
relief  in  his  voice,  "I  feared  —  I  know  not  what 
—  that  thou  hadst  thought  me  churlish,  perhaps, 
because  I  did  not   thank   thee  for  —  for   thy  son." 

His  hand  sought  hers  and  found  it,  as  they  stood 
side  by  side  looking  out  over  the  fields  with  the 
eyes  of  those  whose  lives  are  spent  in  sowing  and 
reaping,  looking  out  over  the  wide  sweep  of  bare 
earth  and  beyond  it,  on  the  northern  horizon,  the 
dim,  dawn-lit  peaks  of  the  Himalayas. 

''  He  favours  her  in  the  face,  husband,"  she  said 
quietly,  ''but  he  hath  thy  form.  That  is  as  it 
should  be,  for  thou  art  strong  and  she  is  fair." 

So,  as  they  went  homeward  through  the  lighten- 
ing fields,  —  she  a  dutiful  step  behind  the  man,  — 
the  printing  presses  over  at  the  other  side  of  the 
world  were  busy,  amid  flaring  gas-jets  and  the 
clamour  of  marvellous  machinery,  in  discussing  in 
a  thousand  ways  the  dreary  old  problems  of  whether 
marriage  is  a  failure  or  not. 

It  was  not  so  to  Uma-devi. 


YOUNG   LOCHINVAR 

Young  Lochinvar,  in  the  original  story,  came 
out  of  the  West.  In  this  tale  he  came  out  of  the 
East,  and  the  most  match-making  mamma  might 
be  disposed  to  forgive  him  ;  partly  on  account  of 
his  youth,  partly  because  he  really  was  not  a  free 
agent. 

They  were  cousins  of  course.  In  the  finest  race 
of  the  Panjab  —  possibly  of  the  world  —  cousins 
have  a  right  to  cousins  provided  the  relationship 
lie  through  the  mother's  brother,  or  the  father's 
sister ;  the  converse,  for  some  mysterious  reason, 
being  anathema  maranatha. 

But  Nanuk's  mother,  wife  of  big  Suchet  Singh, 
head  man  of  Aluwallah  village,  was  sister  to  Dhyan 
Singh,  the  armourer,  who  plied  his  trade  in  the 
little  courtyard  hidden  right  in  the  heart  of  the 
big  city.  A  big  man  too,  high-featured  and  hand- 
some;  high-tempered  also  as  the  steel  which  he 
inlaid  so  craftily  with  gold.  For  all  that,  round, 
podgy  Mai  Gunga,  his  wife,  ruled  him  by  virtue 
of    a   smartness    unknown    to    his    slower,   gentler 

232 


YOUNG   LOCHIXVAR  233 

nature.  Not  so  gentle,  however,  but  that  he 
mourned  the  degeneracy  of  these  latter  piping 
days  of  peace.  They  and  the  Arms  Act  had 
driven  him  from  the  manufacture  of  sword  hilts 
and  helmets,  shields  and  corselets,  to  that  of 
plaques  and  inkstands,  candlesticks  and  ashtrays. 
From  the  means  of  resistance  to  the  decoration  of 
victorious  drawing-rooms.  Not  that  he  nourished 
ill-feeling  against  those  victors.  They  were  a  brave 
lot,  and  since  then  his  people  had  helped  them 
bravely  to  keep  their  winnings.  Only  it  was  dull 
work ;  so  every  now  and  again  Dhyan  Singh  re- 
venged himself  by  making  a  paper  knife  in  the 
form  of  some  bloodthirsty  lethal  weapon,  and  put 
his  best  work  on  it,  just  to  keep  his  hand  in. 

Little  Pertabi,  his  daughter,  used  to  sit  and  watch 
her  father  at  the  tiny  forge  set  in  the  central  sun- 
shine of  the  yard.  It  was  funny  to  see  the  shaving 
of  sheer  steel  curl  up  from  the  graver  guided  in 
its  flowing  curves  by  nothing  but  that  skilled  eye 
and  hand ;  funnier  still  to  watch  the  gold  wire 
nestle  down  so  obediently  into  the  groove ;  funniest 
of  all  to  blow  the  bellows  when  the  time  came  to 
put  that  iridescent  blue  temper  to  the  finished 
work. 

Then,  naked  to  the  waist,  the  soft  brown  hair 
on  her  forehead  plaited  in  tiniest  plaits  into  a  looped 
fringe,  a  little  gold  filigree  cup  poised  on  the  top 


234  YOUNG   LOCHINVAR 

of  her  head,  a  long  betasselled  pigtail  hanging  down 
behind,  Pertabi  would  set  her  short  red-trousered 
legs  very  far  apart,  and  puff  and  blow,  and  laugh, 
and  then  blow  again  to  her  own  and  her  father's 
intense  delight ;  for  Dhyan  having  a  couple  of 
strapping  sons  to  satisfy  Mai  Gunga's  heart 
felt  himself  free  to  adore  this  child  of  his  later 
years. 

But  even  when  there  was  blowing  to  be  done, 
Pertabi  did  not  find  life  in  the  city  half  as  amus- 
ing as  life  out  in  the  village  at  her  aunt's  with 
cousin  Nanuk  as  a  playfellow.  Nanuk  to  whom 
she  was  to  be  married  by  and  by.  That  had  been 
settled  when  she  w^as  a  baby  in  arms,  for  in  those, 
and  for  many  years  after,  Suchet  Singh's  wife  and 
Mai  Gunga  had  been  as  friendly  as  sisters-in-law 
can  well  be.  That  is  to  say  there  were  visits  to 
the  village  for  change  of  air,  especially  at  sugar- 
baking  time,  while  those  who  wished  for  shopping 
or  society  came  as  a  matter  of  course  to  the  ar- 
mourer's house.  The  world  wags  in  the  same 
fashion  East  and  West ;  especially  among  the 
women  folk. 

"  They  will  make  a  fine  pair !  God  keep  them 
to  the  auspicious  day,"  the  deep-chested  country- 
women would  say  piously  ;  then  Mai  Gunga  would 
giggle  a  bit,  and  remark  that  if  Nanuk  grcAV  so 
fast  she  would  have  to  leave  Pertabi  at  home  next 


YOUNG    LOCHINVAR  235 

time.  Whereupon  the  boy's  mother  woiihl  flare 
up,  and  sniff,  as  country  folk  do,  at  town  ideas. 
In  her  family  such  talk  had  never  been  necessary ; 
the  lads  and  lasses  grew  up  together,  and  mothers 
were  in  no  hurry  to  bring  age  and  thought  upon 
them.  Perhaps  that  was  the  reason  why  men  and 
women  alike  were  of  goodly  stature  and  strength ; 
for  even  Mai  Gunga  must  admit  that  Dhyan  was 
at  least  a  fine  figure  of  a  man.  So  there  would  be 
words  to  while  away  the  hours  before  the  men  re- 
turned from  the  fields.  And  outside,  under  the 
bushy  mulberry  trees,  Pertabi  and  Naiiuk  would  be 
fighting  and  making  it  up  again  in  the  cosmopolitan 
fashion  of  healthy  children.  Of  the  two  Pertabi, 
perhaps,  hit  the  hardest ;  she  certainly  howled  the 
loudest,  being  a  wilful  young  person.  Nanuk  used 
to  implore  her  not  to  tease  the  sacred  peacocks, 
when  they  came  sedately  by  companies  to  drink 
at  the  village  tank,  as  the  sun  set  red  over  the 
limitless  plane  of  young  green  corn,  and  she  would 
squat  down  suddenly  on  her  red-trousered  heels 
with  her  hands  tight  clasped  behind  her  back,  and 
promise  to  be  as  still  as  a  grey  crane  if  she  might 
only  look.  Then  some  vainglorious  cock  was  sure 
to  show  off  his  tail ;  every  tail  was  to  Pertabi's 
eager  eyes  the  most  beautiful  one  in  the  world, 
and  she  must  needs  have  a  feather  —  just  one  little 
feather  —  from  it  as  a  keepsake  —  just  a  little  keep- 


236  YOUNG    LOCHINVAR 

sake.  Now,  what  Pertabi  desired  she  got,  at  any 
rate  if  Nanuk  had  aught  to  say  towards  the  possi- 
bility. So  the  little  tyrant  would  play  with  the 
feather  for  five  minutes;  then  fling  it  away.  But 
Nanuk,  serious,  conscientious  Nanuk,  would  set  aside 
half  his  supper  of  curds  on  the  sly  and  sneak  out 
with  it  after  sundown  as  an  oblation  to  the  mys- 
terious village  god,  who  lived  in  a  red  splashed 
stone  under  the  peepul  tree.  Else  the  peacocks 
being  angry  might  not  cry  for  rain,  and  then  what 
would  become  of  the  green  corn?  Nanuk  was  a 
born  cultivator,  true  in  most  things,  above  all  to 
Mother  Earth.  Despite  the  peacocks'  feathers,  how- 
ever, not  without  a  will  of  his  own ;  for  when,  on 
one  of  his  visits  to  the  city,  Pertabi  insisted  on 
handling  the  little  squirrel  he  brought  with  him 
housed  in  his  high  turban,  and  it  bit  her,  he 
laughed,  saying  he  had  told  her  so  ;  nay,  more, 
when  she  chased  the  frightened  little  creature  sav- 
agely, howling  for  vengeance,  he  fell  upon  her 
and  boxed  her  ears  soundly,  much  to  Mai  Gunga's 
displeasure.  A  rough  village  lout,  and  her  dar- 
ling the  daintiest  little  morsel  of  flesh  ! 

"  I  don't  care,"  sobbed  Pertabi ;  "  I'll  bite  him 
hard  next  time  —  yes!  I  Avill,  Nano ;  you'll  see 
if  I  don't." 

Mai  Gunga,  however,  was  right  in  one  thing. 
Pertabi  was  an  extremely  pretty  child.     The   gos- 


YOUNG   LOCH  INVAR  237 

sips  coming  in  of  an  afternoon  to  discuss  births, 
marriages,  and  deaths  took  to  shaking  their  heads 
and  saying  that  she  miglit  have  made  a  better 
match  than  Nanuk,  who,  every  one  thought,  Avould 
limp  for  life  in  consequence  of  that  fall  from  the 
topmost  branch  of  the  sMsliam  tree  where  the 
squirrels  built  their  nests.  Not  much  of  a  limp, 
perhaps,  but  who  did  not  know  that  under  the 
bone-setter's  care  a  broken  leg  often  came  out  a 
bit  shorter  than  the  other,  even  if  it  was  as  strong 
as  ever  ?  Mai  Gunga's  plump,  pert  face  hardened, 
but  she  said  nothing  ;  not  even  when  a  \\q\y  ac- 
quaintance, the  Avife  of  a  rich  contractor  on  the 
lookout  for  a  bride  of  good  family,  openly  be- 
wailed the  prior  claim  on  Pertabi. 

Nevertheless  the  next  time  that  the  sister-in-law 
'came  to  town,  and  on  leaving  it  laden  with  end- 
less bundles  wrapped  in  Manchester  handkerchiefs 
spoke  confidently  of  the  meeting  at  sugar-time, 
Mai  Gunga  threw  difficulties  in  the  way.  She  was 
too  busy  to  come  herself ;  Nanuk,  still  a  semi- 
invalid,  must  be  quite  sufficient  charge  for  her 
sister-in-law.  Besides  seeing  that  Pertabi  touched 
the  eights,  she  thought  it  time  for  village  customs 
to  give  way  to  greater  decorum.  Briefly,  despite 
the  peculiar  virtue  of  some  people's  families,  she 
did  not  choose  that  lier  daughter  should  be  out 
of   her  sight.     The  two  women,  as  might    be  sup- 


238  YOUNG   LOCHINVAR 

posed,  parted  Avith  ceremony  and  effusion  ;  but 
Suchet  Singh's  wife  had  barely  arrived  in  the 
wide  vilhige  courtyards  ere  she  burst  forth  : 

"  Mark  my  words  !  "  she  said,  even  as  she  dis- 
posed her  bundles  about  her.  "That  town-bred 
woman  means  mischief.  I  was  a  fool  to  give  in 
to  you  and  Dhyan,  instead  of  having  the  barber, 
as  to  a  stranger.  Not  that  I  want  the  little  hussy 
above  other  brides,  but  I  would  not  have  Nanuk 
slighted." 

Suchet  Singh  laughed. 

"  Tv/enty  mile  of  an  eklca  hath  shook  thy  brains 
out,  wife.  What  talk  is  this  ?  They  are  two 
halves  of  one  pea.  As  friend  Elahi  Buksh  saith, 
'•do  dil  razi  to  hia  hare  kazif  (when  two  are 
heart  to  heart,  where's  the  parson's  part  ?)  " 

"  Tra  I  That's  neither  in  three  nor  thirteen,"' 
retorted  his  wife.  "  Give  me  the  barber  ^  for  cer- 
tainty." ' 

Meanwhile  Pertabi  was  howling  in  the  little 
courtyard,  much  to  big,  soft-hearted  Dhyan's  dis- 
tress. 

''Let  her  go,  but  this  once,"  he  pleaded  aside; 
"truly  thou  art  over  anxious,  and  slie  but  seven 
for  all  her  spirit." 

"  Seventy  or  seven,  God  knows  thee  for  a  baby," 
snapped  Mai  Gunga.     "  Would  I  had  never  listened 
1  The  barber  is  always  employed  in  regular  betrothals. 


YOUNG    LOCHINYAR  239 

to  thee  and  thy  sister,  though,  for  sure,  the  chil- 
dren were  pretty  as  marionettes.  It  was  a  play 
to  think  of  it.  But  a  mother  knows  her  daughter 
better  than  the  father,  though  it  seems  thou  wilt 
be  ordering  the  wedding-garments  next.  So  be  it, 
but  till  then  Pertab  goes  not  to  Nanuk;  'tis  not 
seemly." 

"I  —  I  don't  want  Nanuk,"  howled  Pertabi. 
"I  —  I  want  the  fresh  molasses  —  I  do  —  I  do." 

Want,  however,  was  her  master,  since  her  own 
obstinacy  was  but  inherited  from  her  mother.  So 
she  sat  sulkily  in  the  sunshine,  refusing  the  ar- 
mourer's big  caresses  or  the  charms  of  bellows- 
blowing,  while  she  pictured  to  herself,  with  all  the 
vividness  of  rage,  Nanuk  going  down  —  going  down 
alone — to  watch  the  great  shallow  pans  of  foamy, 
frothy,  fragrant  juice  shrink  and  shrink  in  the 
dark,  low  hut  where  one  could  scarcely  see  save 
for  the  flame  of  the  furnaces.  What  joy  to  feed 
those  flames  with  the  dry,  crushed  refuse  of  the 
cane  and  leaves  I  What  bliss  to  thrust  a  tentative 
twig,  on  the  sly,  into  the  seething,  darkening  mo- 
lasses, and  then  escape  deftly  to  that  shadowy 
hiding-place  by  the  well,  and  gravely  consider  the 
question  as  to  whether  it  was  nearly  boiled  enough. 
Toffee-making  all  over  the  world  has  a  mysterious 
fascination  for  children,  and  this  was  toffee-making 
on  a  gigantic  scale.     The  legitimate  bairn's  part  of 


240  YOUNG   LOCHINVAR 

scraping  from  each  brew  never  tasted  half  so  sweet 
as  those  stolen  morsels ;  if  only  because,  when  you 
threw  away  the  sucked  twigs,  the  squirrels  would 
come  shyly  from  the  peepul  tree  where  the  green 
pigeons  cooed  all  day  long,  and  fight  for  your  leav- 
ings. Pertabi  could  see  the  whole  scene  when  she 
closed  her  eyes.  The  level  plain,  the  shadow  of 
the  trees  blotting  out  the  sunshine,  the  trickle 
of  running  Avater  from  the  well,  the  creaking  of 
the  presses,  the  babel  of  busy  voices,  and  over  all, 
through  all,  that  lovely,  lovely  smell  of  toffee! 
Yes  I  sugar-baking  time  in  the  village  was  heavenly, 
and  Nanuk  was  greedy  —  greedy  as  a  grey  crow  to 
keep  it  all  to  himself ! 

When  Spring  brought  big  Suchet  to  pay  the 
village  revenue  into  the  office,  he  and  tlie  armourer 
met,  as  ever,  on  the  best  of  terms;  nevertheless 
their  subsequent  interviews  with  their  woman-kind 
were  less  satisfactory. 

"  Thou  art  worse  than  a  peacock  which  cries  even 
after  rain  has  fallen,"  finished  the  big  villager 
testily.  ''What  is  it  to  me  if  women  come  or  go? 
Dhyan  is  a  man  of  mettle  and  word." 

Yet  in  his  heart  he  knew  well  that  the  armourer 
had  no  more  to  say  to  such  matters  in  the  narrow 
city  court,  than  he  had  in  the  wide  village  yard, 
where  the  kine  stood  in  rows,  and  Nanuk's  tumbler 
pigeons  never  lacked  a  grain  of  corn  at  which  to  peck. 


YOUNG   LOCHINVAR  241 

As  for  Mai  Gunga,  her  wrath  became  finally 
voluble  at  the  hint  thrown  out  by  big  Dhyan, 
that  if  she  went  no  more  to  the  village,  folk  might 
talk  of  Pertab  being  slighted.  Slighted,  indeed, 
with  half  the  eligible  mothers  agog  with  envy  ! 
Slighted,  when  but  for  this  cripple  —  yea !  Dhyan 
need  not  make  four  eyes  at  her  —  she  said  cripple, 
and  meant  it.  He  had  a  broken  leg,  and  that  to 
a  man  of  sense  was  sufficient  excuse  for  breach  of 
betrothals.  If,  indeed,  there  ever  had  been  such  a 
thing  as  a  betrothal ;  which  for  her  part  she  denied. 

Dhy^n  Singh  swore  many  big  oaths,  vowed  many 
mighty  vows  that  he  would  have  naught  to  do 
with  such  woman's  work.  Not  even  if  it  became 
clear  that,  as  his  wife  hinted,  his  little  Pertab 
would  not  be  welcome  in  his  sister's  house.  Yet 
he  scowled  over  the  idea,  twisted  his  beard  tighter 
over  his  ears,  as  became  a  man,  and  looked  very 
fierce.  And  when  a  month  or  two  later  Suchet 
Singh's  wife  met  his  halting  apology  for  Mai 
Gunga's  absence  with  a  distinct  sniff  and  a  cool 
remark  that  she  really  did  not  care, — Nanuk  could 
no  doubt  do  better  in  brides,  —  he  came  home  in 
a  towering  passion  to  his  anvil  and  made  a  paper 
knife  fit  for  a  brigand.  To  have  such  a  thing 
said  to  him,  even  in  jest,  when  he,  for  his  sister's 
sake,  had  been  willing  to  waive  the  fact  of  Nanuk 
being  a  cripple  I 


242  YOUNG   LOCHINYAR 

"Cripple  indeed!"  shrieked  the  boy's  mother, 
when  Suchet  came  back  from  the  city  one  day 
with  Dhyan's  remark  enlarged  and  illustrated  by 
friendly  gossip.  "  Lo,  husband  !  That  is  an  end. 
Whose  fault  if  he  limps  ?  —  only  in  running,  mind, 
not  in  walking.  Whose  indeed  !  Whose  but  that 
immodest,  wicked,  ill-brought-up  hussy's  !  Was  it 
not  to  get  her  another  squirrel,  because  she  cried 
so  for  his,  that  he  climbed  ?  Let  her  have  her 
girl  ;   we  will  have  damages." 

So  when  sugar-baking  time  came  round  again, 
Suchet  and  Dhyan,  rather  to  their  own  surprise, 
found  themselves  claimant  and  defendant  in  a 
breach  of  betrothal  case  for  the  recovery  of  fifteen 
hundred  rupees  spent  in  preliminary  expenses.  Yet, 
despite  their  surprise,  they  were  both  beside  them- 
selves Avith  rage.  Dhyan  because  of  the  unscrupu- 
lous claim  when  not  one  penny  had  been  spent, 
Suchet  because  of  the  slur  cast  on  his  boy's 
straight  limbs  by  the  secondary  plea  in  defence  ; 
that  even  if  there  had  been  a  betrothal  and  not 
a  family  understanding,  the  crippled  condition  of 
the  bridegroom  was  sufficient  excuse  for  the  breach 
of  contract.  The  actual  point  of  the  betrothal  be- 
ing so  effectually  overlaid  by  these  lies  as  to  be 
obscured  even  from  the  litigant's  own  eyes. 

It  was  one  gorgeous  blue  day  in  December  that 
Suchet  rode  in  to  the  city  on  his  pink-nosed  mare, 


YOUNG   LOCHINVAR  243 

with  Naniik  on  the  crupper  to  bear  witness  in 
Court  to  his  own  perfections.  A  handsome,  soft- 
eyed  Lad  of  ten,  glad  enough  of  the  ride,  sorry 
for  the  separation,  even  for  one  day,  from  the  vil- 
lage toffee-making  ;  but  Avith  a  great  lump  of  raw 
sugar  stowed  away  in  his  turban  as  partial  conso- 
lation. For  the  rest,  he  had  a  childish  and  yet 
grave  acquiescence.  Pertabi  apparently  had  been 
a  naughty  girl,  and  Mammi  Gunga  had  never  been 
nice.  Yet  the  ''jej -sahib '' ^  might  say  they  were 
married  ;  since,  after  all,  he,  Nanuk,  could  run  as 
fast  as  ever.  Tehu!  he  would  like  to  show  Per- 
tabi that  it  was  so. 

The  court-house  compound  was  full  of  suitors 
and  flies,  the  case  of  Suchet  versus  Dhyan  Singh 
late  in  the  list,  so  the  former  bade  his  son  tie  the 
mare  in  the  furthest  corner  behind  the  wall,  in 
the  shade  of  a  spreading  tree,  and  keep  Avatch, 
while  he  went  about  from  group  to  group  in  order 
to  discuss  his  wrongs  with  various  old  friends  — 
that  being  half  the  joy  of  going  to  law  ;  grave 
groups  of  reverend  bearded  faces  round  a  central 
pipe,  grave,  slow  voices  rising  in  wise  saws  from 
the  close-set  circles  of  huge  turbans  and  massive 
blue  and  white  draperies. 

Meanwhile  Nanuk  ate  sugar  till  it  began  to 
taste  sickly,  and  then  he  sat  looking  at  the  re- 
1  Judge. 


244  YOUNG    LOCHINVAR 

maining  lump  and  thinking,  not  without  a  certain 
malice,  how  Pert^bi  would  have  enjoyed  it.  Then 
suddenly,  from  behind,  a  small  brown  hand  reached 
out  and  snatched  it.  "  One  two,  that's  for  you; 
two  tliree^  tJiafs  for  me;  three  four,  sugar  galore; 
the  Rajah  begs,  ivith  a  hrokeyi  leg "  The  sing- 
ing voice  paused,  the  little  figure  munching,  as  it 
sang,  with  vindictive  eyes  upon  the  boy,  paused 
too  in  its  tantalising  dance. 

"Did  it  hurt  much,  Nano?  I'm  so  sorry.  And 
mother  wouldn't  let  me  keep  the  squirrel,  Nano  ; 
but  I  howled,  I  howled  like  —  like  a  hhut  (devil)." 

The  abstract  truth  of  the  description  seemed  to 
bring  back  the  past,  and  Nanuk's  face  relaxed. 

"  Father's  at  Court,  and  mother's  gone  to  see  the 
woman  who  wants  me  to  inarry  her  son,"  explained 
Pertabi  between  the  munchings,  "but  I  won't.  I 
won't  marry  anybody  but  you,  Nano.  I  like  3^ou, 
Nano." 

Nano's  face  relaxed  still  more. 

"  You  have  got  sugar-presses,  Nano,  and  the 
other  boy  has  none.  He  lives  in  the  city,  and 
I  hate  the  city.  Is  there  much  sugar  this  year, 
Nano?" 

"More  than  last,"  replied  the  boy  proudly.  "We 
have  the  best  fields  in " 

"  Then  give  me  another  bit,"  interrupted  Pertabi. 

"That  is  all  I  brought."     There  was  a  trace  of 


YOUNG   LOCHINVAB  245 

anxiety  in  Nanuk's  voice,  and  he  looked  deprecat- 
ingly  at  the  little  figure  now  cuddled  up  beside  him. 

"  Oh,  you  silly  !  but  it  doesn't  matter.  We  can 
go  and  fetch  some  more.  That's  why  I  ran  away. 
I  knew  uncle  would  bring  you,  so  we  can  go  to 
the  village  early.     Come,  Nano." 

"  Go  to  the  village,  Pertab  !  Oh,  what  a  tale  ! " 
It  is  easy  to  be  virtuously  indignant  at  the  first 
proposition  of  evil,  but  what  is  to  be  done  when 
you  are  at  the  mercy  of  a  small  person  who  hesi- 
tates at  nothing  ?  Wheedlings,  pinchings,  hissings, 
tears,  and  promises  were  all  one  to  Pertabi.  At 
least  a  ride  on  the  pink- nosed  mare  for  the  sake 
of  old  times  !  They  could  slip  away  easily  with- 
out being  seen  ;  yonder  lay  the  road  villagewards 
—  there  would  be  plenty  of  time  to  go  a  mile,  per- 
haps twain,  and  get  back  before  CJiachcha-ji  could 
possibly  finish  with  his  friends.  She  could  get  off 
at  the  corner,  and  then  even  if  Chachcha-ji  had  dis- 
covered their  absence  Nano  could  say  he  had  taken 
the  mare  for  water,  or  that  the  flies  were  trouble- 
some.    Excuses  were  so  easy. 

Ten  minutes  after,  his  feet  barely  reaching  the 
big  shovel  stirrups,  young  Lochinvar  ambled  out 
of  the  court-house  compound  with  his  bride  behind 
him. 

"  We  must  come  back  at  the  turn,  Pertab,"  he 
said,  to  bolster  up  his  own  resolution. 


246  YOUNG   LOCHINVAR 

"  Of  course  we  must  come  back,"  replied  Pertabi, 
digging  her  small  heels  into  the  old  grey  mare. 
"  Can't  you  make  the  stupid  go  faster,  Nano  ?  We 
may  as  well  have  all  the  fun  we  can." 

So  the  old  mare  went  faster  down  the  high- 
arched  avenue  of  flickering  light  and  shade,  and 
Pertabi's  little  red  legs  flounced  about  in  a  way 
suggestive  of  falling  off.  But  she  shrieked  with 
laughter  and  held  tight  to  her  cavalier. 

"  Don't  let  us  go  back  yet,  Nano  !  "  she  pleaded  ; 
"  the  old  thing  is  all  out  of  breath,  and  Chachcha-ji 
will  find  out  you've  been  galloping  her,  and  beat 
you.  I  shouldn't  like  you  to  be  beaten,  Nano  dear, 
and  it  is  so  lovely." 

It  was  lovely.  They  were  in  the  open  now  among 
the  level  stretches  of  young  green  corn,  and  there 
were  the  fallen  battalions  of  red  and  gold  canes, 
and  from  that  clump  of  trees  came  the  familiar 
creak  of  the  press.  Nay,  more  !  wafted  on  the  soft 
breeze  the  delicious,  the  irresistible  smell  of  sugar- 
boiling.     Other  people's  sugar-boiling. 

'^It's  time  we  were  going  back,"  remarked  Nanuk 
boldly. 

''Tchuf'  cried  Pertabi  from  behind,  ''we  are  not 
going  back  any  more.  See  !  I've  tied  your  shawl 
to  my  veil.  When  I  do  that  to  my  dolls,  then 
they  are  married ;  so  that  settles  it.  Go  on, 
Nano !    it's  all  right.     Besides   it   is   no   use   going 


YOUNG    LOCHINVAR  247 

back  now,  they  would  onl}^  beat  us  for  getting 
married.     Go  on,  Nano — or  Til  pinch." 

Perliaps  it  really  was  fear  of  the  pinching,  per- 
haps it  was  the  conviction  that  they  had  gone  too 
far  to  recede,  which  finally  induced  young  Lochin- 
yar  to  give  the  old  mare  her  head  towards  home. 
But  even  then  he  showed  none  of  the  alacrity  dis- 
played beneath  him  and  behind  him  by  the  female 
aiders  and  abettors.  His  face  grew  graver  and 
graver,  longer  and  longer. 

"  We  can't  be  married  until  we've  taken  the 
seven  steps,"  he  said  at  length.  "Look!  they  have 
been  burning  weeds  in  the  field.  Let's  get  down 
and  do  it,  or  the  gods  will  be  angry." 

Pertabi  clapped  her  hands.  "It  will  be  fun,  any- 
how, so  come  along,  Nano." 

They  tied  the  old  mare  to  a  tree,  while,  hand 
tight  clasped  in  hand,  just  as  they  had  seen  it  done  a 
hundred  times,  they  circumambulated  the  sacred  fire. 

"That's  better,"  sighed  Nano.  "Now,  I  believe, 
we  really  are  married." 

"  Tchii ! "  cried  Pertabi  in  superior  wisdom,  "  I 
can  tell  you  heaps  and  heaps  of  things.  Our  dolls 
do  them  when  we've  time  ;  we  are  always  marry- 
ing our  dolls  in  the  city.  But  we  can  ride  a  bit 
further  first,  and  when  we  get  tired  of  Pinky-nose 
we  can  just  get  down  and  be  married  another 
way.     That'll  rest  us." 


248  YOUNG   LOCHINVAE 

So  through  the  lengthening  shadows,  they  rode 
on  and  got  married,  rode  on,  and  got  married,  until 
Pertabi's  braided  head  began  to  nod  against  Nanuk's 
back,  and  she  said  sleepily  : 

"  We'll  keep  the  gur-ror  (sugar-throwing)  till  to- 
morrow, Nano  ;  that'll  be  fun." 

But  when,  in  the  deep  dusk,  the  pink-nosed  mare 
drew  up  of  her  own  accord  at  the  gate  of  the  wide 
village  yard,  and  drowsy  Nanuk  just  remembered 
enough  of  past  events  to  lift  his  bride  across  the 
threshold,  and  murmur  with  an  aw^ful  qualm,  "This 
is  my  wife,"  Pertabi  woke  up  suddenly  to  plant 
her  little  red-trousered  legs  firmly  on  the  ground, 
and  say,  with  a  nod  : 

"  Yes  I  and  we've  been  married  every  Avay  we 
could  think  of,  haven't  we,  Nano  ?  except  the  sugar- 
throwing,  because  we  hadn't  any  ;  but  —  we'll  — 
have  —  plenty  —  now  ;  won't  we,  Nano  ?  "  The 
pauses  being  filled  up  by  yawns. 

It  was  midnight  before  Suchet  Singh  and  Dhyan, 
forgetful  of  their  enmity  in  over-mastering  anxiety, 
arrived  on  the  scene.  The  culprits  were  then  fast 
asleep,  and  the  deep-chested  country-woman,  having 
recovered  the  shock,  was  beginning  to  find  a  difti- 
culty  in  telling  the  tale  without  smiles.  A  diffi- 
culty which,  by  degrees,  extended  itself  to  her 
hearers. 

"  Ho  !    ho  !    ho  !  "    exploded    Suchet    suddenly  ; 


YOUNG   LOCHINVAR  249 

"and  so  they  didn't  even  forget  the  forehead 
mark.     I'll  be  bound  that  was  Nanuk  —  the  rogue." 

"Ho  !  ho  !  ho  ! "  echoed  the  armourer  ;  "as  like  as 
not  it  was  Pertab.     The  sharpest  little  marionette." 

"  Well,  'tis  done,  anyhow,"  said  the  woman  de- 
cisively. "  We  can't  have  it  said  in  our  family, 
]3hyan,  that  the  vermilion  on  a  girl's  head  came 
save  from  her  husband's  fingers.  He  !  he  !  he  ! 
Couldst  but  have  seen  them.  '  This  is  my  wife,' 
quoth  he.  '  And  we've  been  married  every  way 
we  could  think  of,'  pipes  she.  '  Haven't  we,  Nano?' 
The  prettiest  pair  —  Lord  !    I  shall  laugh  for  ever." 

"And  —  and  Gunga?"  faltered  the  armourer. 

"Gunga's  brain  is  not  addled,"  retorted  her  sister- 
in-law  sharply.  "  Who  bruises  a  plum  before  taking 
it  to  market  ?  What's  done  is  done.  We  must 
cook  the  wedding  feast  without  delay,  have  in  the 
barber,  and  keep  a  still  tongue." 

So,  ere  many  days  were  over,  Pertabi  and  Nanuk, 
as  bride  and  bridegroom,  watched  the  fire-balloons 
go  up  into  the  cloudless  depths  of  purple  sky.  The 
boy  watching  them  shyly,  yet  with  absorbing  in- 
terest ;  for  did  not  their  course  denote  the  favour 
or  disfavour  of  the  gods  ? 

"The  omens  are  auspicious,"  he  said  contentedly; 
but  Pertabi  was  in  a  hurry  for  the  sugar-throwing, 
in  which  she  aided  her  bridesmaids  with  such  vigour 
that  Nanuk  had  a  black  eye  for  several  days. 


250  YOUNG    LOCHINVAII 

"  If  you  were  to  ask  me,  and  ask  me,  and  ask  me 
to  lift  you  on  old  Pinky-nose  again,  I'd  yiever  do  it 
—  never  !  ^^  \iQ  declared  vindictively. 

"  Oil,  yes  !  you  would,  Nano,"  replied  his  wife 
with  the  utmost  confidence,  "you  would  if  I  asked 
you ;  besides  you  really  wanted  to  be  married, 
you  know  you  did.  And  then  there  Avas  the  fresh 
molasses." 


A  BIT   OF  LAND 

He  stood  in  the  hot  yellow  sunshine,  his  air  of 
modest  importance  forming  a  halo  round  his  old 
rickety  figure,  as  with  one  hand  he  clung  to  a 
plane-table,  old  and  rickety  as  himself,  and  with 
the  other  to  one  of  those  large-eyed,  keen-faced 
Indian  boys  who  seem  to  have  been  sent  into  the 
world  in  order  to  take  scholarships.  The  old  man, 
on  the  contrary,  was  of  the  monkey  type  of  his  race, 
small,  bandy-legged,  and  inconceivably  wrinkled, 
with  a  three  days'  growth  of  grey  beard  frosting 
his  brown  cheeks ;  only  the  wide-set  brown  eyes 
had  a  certain  wristful  beauty  in  them. 

In  front  of  those  appealing  eyes  sat  a  ruddy- 
faced  Englishman  backed  by  the  white  wings  of 
an  office  tent  and  deep  in  the  calf-bound  books 
and  red-taped  files  on  the  table  before  him.  On 
either  side,  discreetly  drawn  apart  so  as  to  allow 
the  central  group  its  full  picturesque  value,  were 
tall  figures,  massive  in  beards  and  wide  turbans,  in 
falling    folds    of    dingy    white    and    indigo    blue; 

251 


252  A   BIT    OF    LAND 

massive  also  in  broad,  capable  features,  made  broader 
still  by  callable  approving  smiles  over  the  old  man, 
the  boy,  and  the  plane-table.  So  standing  they 
Avere  a  typical  group  of  J  at  peasantry  appealing 
with  confidence  to  English  justice  for  the  observ- 
ance of  Indian  custom. 

''Then  the  head-men  are  satisfied  with  this  ad- 
interim  arrangement?"  asked  the  palpably  foreign 
voice.  The  semicircle  of  writers  and  subordinate 
officials  on  the  striped  carpet  beyond  the  table 
moved  their  heads  like  clockwork  figures  to  the 
circle  of  peasants,  as  if  giving  it  permission  to 
speak,  and  a  chorus  of  guttural  voices  rose  in 
assent ;  then,  after  village  fashion,  one  voice  pro- 
longed itself  in  representative  explanation.  "It 
will  be  but  for  three  years  or  so,  and  the  Shelter- 
of-the-World  is  aware  that  the  fields  cannot  run 
away.  And  old  Tulsi  knows  how  to  make  the 
Three-Legged-One  Avork ;  thus  there  is  no  fear." 
The  speaker  thrust  a  declamatory  hand  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  plane-table,  and  the  chorus  of  assent 
rose  once  more. 

So  the  matter  was  settled;  the  matter  being, 
briefly,  the  appointment  of  a  new  putwari,  in  other 
words  the  official  who  measures  the  fields,  and  pre- 
pares the  yearly  harvest-map,  showing  the  area 
under  cultivation  on  which  the  Land  Revenue  has 
to   be   paid  ;    in    other  words   again,  the    man  who 


A   BIT   OF    LAND  253 

stands  between  India  and  bankruptcy.  In  this 
particular  case  the  recently  defunct  incumbent 
had  left  a  son  who  was  as  yet  over  young  for 
the  hereditary  office,  and  the  head-men  had  pro- 
posed putting  in  the  boy's  maternal  grandfather 
as  a  substitute,  until  the  former  could  pass  through 
the  necessary  modern  training  in  the  Accountants' 
College  at  head- quarters.  The  proposition  was 
fair  enough,  seeing  that  Gurditta  was  sure  to 
pass,  as  he  was  already  head  of  the  queer  little 
village  school  which  the  elders  viewed  with  in- 
credulous tolerance.  And,  to  tell  the  truth,  their 
doubts  were  not  without  some  reason ;  for  on  that 
very  day  when  the  Englishman  was  inspecting, 
the  first  class  had  bungled  over  a  simple  revenue 
sum,  which  any  one  could  do  in  his  head  with 
the  aid,  of  course,  of  the  ten  God-given  fingers 
without  which  the  usurer  would  indeed  be  king. 
The  master  had  explained  the  mistake  by  saying 
that  it  was  no  fault  of  the  rules,  and  only  arose 
because  the  boys  had  forgotten  which  was  the 
bigger  of  two  numbers;  but  that  in  itself  Avas 
something  over  which  to  chuckle  under  their 
breaths  and  nudge  each  other  on  the  sly.  Ari 
hail  the  lads  would  be  forgetting  next  which 
end  of  the  plough  to  hold,  the  share  or  the 
handle!  But  Puriimeshvar'^  be  praised!  only 
1  The  Universal  God. 


254  A   BIT    OF    LAND 

upon  their  slates  could  they  forget  it ;  since  a 
true-born  Jat's  hand  could  never  lose  such  know- 
ledge. 

So,  underlying  the  manifest  convenience  of  not 
allowing  a  stranger's  finger  in  their  pie,  the  elders  of 
the  village  had  a  secondary  consideration  in  plead- 
ing for  old  Tulsi  Ram's  appointment ;  a  desire, 
namely,  to  show  the  world  at  large  and  the  Presence 
in  particular  that  there  had  been  putwaries  before 
he  came  to  cast  his  mantle  of  protection  over  the 
poor.  Besides,  old  Tulsi,  though  he  looked  like 
a  monkey,  might  be  Sri  Hunuman  ^  liimself  in  the 
wisdom  necessary  for  settling  the  thousand  petty 
disputes,  without  wdiicli  the  village  would  be  so 
dull.  Then  he  was  a  real  saint  to  boot,  all  the 
more  saintly  because  he  was  willing  to  forego  his 
preparation  for  another  world  in  order  to  keep  a 
place  warm  for  his  grandson  in  this. 

And  after  all  it  was  only  for  three  j^ears ! 
They,  and  Tulsi,  and  the  Three-Legged-One  could 
surely  manage  the  maps  for  so  long.  If  not,  well, 
it  was  no  great  matter,  since  the  fields  could  not 
possibly  run  away.  So  they  went  off  contentedly 
in  procession,  Tulsi  Ram  clinging  ostentatiously  to 
the  plane-table,  which,  by  reason  of  its  straighter, 
longer  legs,  looked  for  all  the  world  as  if  it  were 
taking  charge  of  him,  and  not  he  of  it. 
1  The  Monkey-god. 


A    BIT   OF   LAND  255 

It  looked  still  more  in  possession  as  it  stood 
decently  draped  beside  the  old  man  as  he  worked 
away  at  the  long  columns  of  figures ;  for  the  map- 
ping season  was  over,  and  nothing  remained  but 
addition,  subtraction,  and  division,  at  all  of  which 
old  Tulsi  was  an  adept.  Had  he  not  indeed 
dipped  far  into  "Euclidus"  in  his  salad-days 
when  he  was  the  favourite  disciple  of  the  re- 
nowned   anchorite  at  Janakpur? 

Gurditta  by  this  time  was  away  at  college,  and 
Kishnu,  his  widowed  mother,  as  she  cooked  the 
millet-cakes  in  the  other  corner  of  the  courtyard, 
wept  salt  tears  at  the  thought  of  the  unknown 
dangers  he  was  running.  Deadly  dangers  they 
were,  for  had  not  his  father  been  quite  healthy 
until  the  Government  had  insisted  on  his  using 
the  Three-Legged-One?  And  then,  had  he  not 
gone  down  and  wrestled  with  it  on  the  low,  misty 
levels  of  newly  reclaimed  land  by  the  river-side, 
and  caught  the  chills  of  which  he  had  eventually 
died?  Thus  when  the  rainy  season  came  on,  and 
the  plane-table,  still  decently  draped,  was  set  aside 
for  shelter  in  the  darkest  corner  of  the  hovel,  it 
looked  to  poor  Kishnu  like  some  malevolent  demon 
ready  to  spring  out  upon  the  little  household.  And 
so,  naturally  enough,  when  Tulsi  went  to  fetch  it 
out  for  his  first  field-measurements,  he  found  it 
garlanded  with  yellow  marigolds,  and  set  out  with 


256  A   BIT   OF    LAND 

little  platters  of  curds  and  butter.  Kishnu  had 
been   propitiating  it  with  offerings. 

The  old  man  looked  at  her  in  mild,  superior  re- 
proof. "  Thou  art  an  ignorant  woman,  daughter," 
he  said.  "  This  is  no  devil,  but  a  device  of  the 
learned,  of  much  use  to  such  as  I  who  make  maps. 
Thou  shouldest  have  known  that  the  true  Gods  are 
angered  by  false  worship  ;  therefore  I  counsel  thee 
to  remember  great  Mahadeo  this  day,  lest  evil  be- 
fall." 

So  he  passed  out  into  the  sunlight,  bearing  the 
plane-table  in  debonair  fashion,  leaving  the  abaslied 
Kishnu  to  gather  up  the  marigolds.  Baha-ji,  she 
told  herself,  was  brave,  but  he  had  not  to  l)ustle 
about  the  house  all  day  with  that  shrouded  tiling 
glowering  from  the  corner.  Hovv^ever,  since  for 
Gurdit's  sake  it  was  wise  to  propitiate  everything, 
she  took  the  platters  of  curds  and  butter  over  to 
Mahadeo's  red  stone  under  the  big  banyan  tree. 

Nevertheless,  she  felt  triumpliant  tliat  evening 
when  old  Tulsi  came  in  from  the  fields  dispirited 
and  professing  no  appetite  for  his  supper.  He  had 
in  fact  discovered  that  studying  text-books  and 
making  practical  field-measurements  Avere  very  dif- 
ferent things,  especially  in  a  treeless,  formless  plain, 
where  the  only  land-marks  are  the  mud  boundary- 
cones  you  are  set  to  verify,  and  which  therefore 
cannot,  or  ought  not  to  be  considered  fixed  points. 


A    BIT    OF   LAND  257 

However,  he  managed  at  last  to  draw  two  imagi- 
nary lines  through  the  village,  thanks  to  Puru- 
meshwar  and  the  big  green  dome  of  Mahadeo's 
banyan  tree  swelling  up  into  the  blue  horizon. 
Indeed  he  felt  so  grateful  to  the  latter  for  show- 
ing clear,  even  over  a  plane-table,  that  he  sneaked 
out  when  Kishnu's  back  was  turned  with  a  platter 
of  curds  of  his  ow^n  for  the  great,  many-armed 
trunk  ;  but  this,  of  course,  was  very  different  from 
making  oblation  to  a  trivial  plane-table.  And  that 
evening  he  spent  all  the  lingering  light  in  deco- 
rating the  borders  of  the  map  (which  was  yet  to 
come)  with  the  finest  flourishes,  just,  as  he  told 
Kishnu,  to  show  the  Protector-of-the-Poor  that  he 
had  not  committed  the  jt?i<^z^«rz-ship  to  unworthy 
hands. 

Yet  two  days  afterwards  he  replied  captiously 
to  his  daughter's  anxious  inquiries  as  to  what  was 
the  matter.  There  was  naught  wrong ;  only 
one  of  the  three  legs  had  no  sense  of  duty,  and 
he  must  get  the  carpenter  to  put  a  nail  to  it. 
Despite  the  nail,  however,  the  anxiety  grew  on 
his  face,  and  when  nobody  was  looking  he  took  to 
tramping  over  the  ploughs  surreptitiously  dragging 
the  primeval  chain-measure  after  him  ;  in  which 
occupation  he  looked  like  a  monkey  who  had  es- 
caped from  its  owner  the  plane-table,  which,  with 
the  old  man's  mantle  draped  over  it,  and  his  pug- 


258  A   BIT    OF   LAND 

ree  placed  on  the  top,  had  a  veiy  dignified  appear- 
ance in  the  corner  of  the  fiehl ;  for  it  was  hot 
work  dragging  the  heavy  chain  about,  and  okl 
Tulsi,  who  was  too  proud  to  ask  for  aid  and  so 
disclose  the  fact  that  he  had  had  to  fall  back 
on  ancient  methods,  discarded  all  the  clothing  he 
could. 

And  after  all  he  had  to  give  in.  ''  Gurdit's 
father  did  it  field  by  field,"  said  the  head-men 
carelessly  when  he  sought  their  advice.  "  Fret  not 
thyself,  Baha-ji.  'Twill  come  right ;  thou  art  a 
better  scholar  than  ever  he  was." 

"  Field  by  field  !  "  echoed  Tulsi  aghast.  "  But 
the  book  prohibits  it,  seeing  that  there  is  not  veri- 
fication, since  none  can  know  if  the  boundaries  be 
right." 

A  broad  chuckle  ran  round  the  circle  of  elders. 
"  Is  that  all,  Sri  Tulsi  ? "  cried  the  head-man. 
''  That  is  soon  settled.  A  Jat  knows  his  own  land, 
I  warrant ;  and  each  man  of  us  will  verify  his 
fields,  seeing  that  never  before  have  we  had  sucli 
a  settling-day  as  thine.  Not  an  error,  not  an  injus- 
tice !  Purumeshivar  send  Gurditta  to  be  as  good  a 
putwari  when  he  comes  I  " 

"Nay,  'tis  Gurdit  Avho  is  putwari  already,"  re- 
plied Tulsi  uneasily ;  "  and  therefore  must  there 
be  no  mistake.  So  I  will  do  field  by  field  ;  per- 
adventure  when    they  are    drawn  on   paper  it  may 


A    BIT    OF    LAND  259 

seem  more  like  the  book  where  things  do  not 
move.     Then  I  can  begin  again  by  rule." 

There  was  quite  a  pleasurable  excitement  over 
the  attested  measurement  of  the  fields,  and  old 
Munnia,  the  parcher  of  corn,  said  it  was  almost 
as  good  as  a  fair  to  her  trade.  Each  man  clanked 
the  chain  round  his  own  boundary,  while  his  neigh- 
bours stood  in  the  now  sprouting  wheat  to  see  fair 
play  and  talk  over  the  past  history  of  the  claim  ; 
Tulsi  Ram  meanwhile  squatting  on  the  ground  and 
drawing  away  as  for  dear  life.  Even  the  children 
went  forth  to  see  the  show,  munching  popped  corn 
and  sidling  gingerly  past  the  Three-Legged-One 
which,  to  say  sooth,  looked  gigantic  with  half  the 
spare  clothes  of  the  community  piled  on  to  it ;  in- 
deed the  village  women,  peeping  from  afar,  de- 
clared Kishnu  to  have  been  quite  right,  and  urged 
a  further  secret  oblation  as  prudent,  if  not  abso- 
lutely necessary. 

So  she  took  to  hanging  the  marigolds  again, 
taking  care  to  remove  them  ere  the  old  man  rose 
in  the  morning.  And  the  result  was  eminently  sat- 
isfactory, for  as  he  put  one  field-plan  after  another 
away  in  the  portfolio  Tulsi  Ram's  face  cleared. 
They  were  so  beautifully  green,  far  greener  than 
those  in  the  book ;  so  surely  there  could  be  no 
mistake.  But  alas  I  when  he  came  to  try  and  fit 
them  together  as  they  should  be  on  the  map,  they 


260  A    BIT   OF    LAND 

resolutely  refused  to  do  anything  of  the  kind.  It 
was  a  judgment,  he  felt,  for  having  disobeyed  the 
text-book  ;  and  so  the  next  morning  he  rose  at 
the  peep  of  day  determined  to  have  it  out  legiti- 
mately with  the  Three-Legged -One.  And  lo  !  it 
was  garlanded  with  marigolds  and  set  out  once 
more  with  platters  of  curds  and  butter. 

"  Thou  hast  undone  me,  ignorant  woman  I  "  he 
said  with  a  mixture  of  anger  and  relief.  "•  Now 
is  it  clear  !  Tlie  true  Gods  in  despite  of  thy  false 
worship  have  sent  a  devil  into  this  thing  to  de- 
stroy me."  So  despite  Kishnu's  terror  and  tears 
he  threw  the  offerings  into  the  fire,  and  dragged 
the  plane-table  out  into  the  fields  with  ignominy. 

But  even  this  protestation  failed,  and  poor  old 
Tulsi,  one  vast  wrinkle  of  perplexity,  was  obliged 
once  more  to  refer  to  the  circle  of  head-men. 

''  Gurdit's  father  managed,  and  thou  hast  twice 
his  mettle,"  they  replied,  vaguely  interested.  "Sure 
the  devil  must  indeed  be  in  it,  seeing  that  tlie 
land  cannot  run  away  of  itself." 

"  It  hath  not  run  away,"  said  Tulsi  dejectedly. 
"There  is  not  too  little,  but  too  much  of  it." 

Too  much  land  I  The  idea  was  at  first  bewil- 
dering to  these  Jat  peasants,  and  then  sent  them 
into  open  laughter.  Here  was  a  mistake  indeed  ! 
and  yet  the  lust  of  land,  so  typical  of  their  race, 
showed   in   their   eyes  as  they   crowded   round    the 


A    BIT    OF    LAND  261 

map  which  Tulsi  Kam  spread  on  the  ground.  It 
was  a  model  of  neatness  :  the  fields  were  greener 
than  the  greenest  wheat  ;  but  right  in  the  middle 
of  them  was  a  white  patch  of  no-man's-land. 

"  Trra ! "  rolled  the  broadest  of  the  party  after 
an  instant's  stupefaction.  "  That  settles  it.  'Tis 
a  mistake,  for  look  you,  'tis  next  my  fields,  and 
if  'twere  there  my  plough  would  have  been  in 
it  long  ago."  A  sigh  of  conviction  and  relief 
passed  through  the  circle,  for  the  mere  suggestion 
had  been  disturbing.  Nevertheless,  since  Gurdit's 
father's  map  had  never  indulged  in  white  spots, 
Tulsi's  must  be  purged  from  them  also.  "Look 
you,"  said  one  of  the  youngest  ;  "  'tis  as  when  the 
children  make  a  puzzle  of  torn  leaves.  He  has 
fitted  them  askew,  so  let  each  cut  his  own  field 
out  of  the  paper  and  set  it  aright." 

Then  ensued  an  hour  of  sheer  puzzledom,  since 
if  the  white  spot  were  driven  from  one  place  it 
re-appeared  differently  shaped  in  another.  The 
devil  was  in  it,  they  said  at  last,  somewhat  alarmed; 
since  he  who  brought  land  might  be  reasonably 
suspected  of  the  power  of  taking  it  away.  They 
would  offer  a  scapegoat  ;  and  meanwhile  old  Tulsi 
need  not  talk  of  calling  in  the  aid  of  the  new 
putwari  in  the  next  village,  for  he  was  one  of  the 
new-fangled  sort,  an  empty  drum  making  a  big 
noise,  and,  as  likely  as  not,  would  make  them  pay 


262  A   BIT   OF    LAND 

double,  if  there  really  was  extra  land,  because  it 
had  not  come  into  the  schedule  before.  No  !  they 
would  ask  the  schoolmaster  first,  since  he  had  ex- 
perience in  finding  excuse  for  mistakes.  Nor  Avas 
their  trust  unfounded,  for  the  master  not  only  had 
an  excuse  in  something  he  called  "a  reasonable 
margin  of  error,"  but  also  a  remedy  which,  he 
declared,  the  late  putwari  had  always  adopted  ; 
briefly  a  snip  here,  a  bulge  there,  and  a  general 
fudging  with  the  old  settlement-maps. 

The  elders  clapped  old  Tulsi  on  the  back  with 
fresh  laughter  bidding  him  not  try  to  be  cleverer 
than  others,  and  so  sent  him  back  to  his  drawing- 
board.  But  long  after  the  dusk  had  fallen  that 
evening,  the  old  man  sat  staring  stupidly  at  the 
great  sheet  of  blank  paper  on  which  he  had  not 
drawn  a  line.  It  was  no  business  of  his  what 
Gurdit's  father  had  done,  seeing  that  he  too  was 
of  the  old  school  inwardly,  if  not  outwardly  ;  but 
Gurdit  himself,  when  he  returned,  would  allow  of 
no  such  dishonesties,  and  he,  Tulsi,  was  in  the 
boy's  place.  There  Avas  time  yet,  a  month  at  least 
before  inspection,  in  which  to  have  it  out  Avith  the 
plane-table.  So  when  the  wild  geese  from  the  mud- 
banks  came  witli  the  first  streak  of  dawn  to  feed 
on  the  wheat,  they  found  old  Tulsi  and  his  attend- 
ant demon  there  already,  at  work  on  the  dewy 
fields  ;    and   Avhen   sunset   Avarned    the    grey    crane 


A    BIT    OF    LA^^D  263 

that  it  was  time  to  wing  their  flight  riverwards, 
they  left  Tulsi  and  the  Three-Legged-One  still 
struggling  with  the  margin  of  error. 

Then  he  would  sit  up  of  nights  plotting  and 
planning  till  a  dim,  dazed  look  came  into  his  bright 
old  eyes,  and  he  had  to  borrow  a  pair  of  horn  spec- 
tacles from  the  widow  of  a  dead  friend.  He  was 
getting  old,  he  told  Kishnu  (who  was  in  despair), 
as  men  must  get  old,  no  matter  how  many  mari- 
golds ignorant  women  wasted  on  false  gods  ;  for 
she  had  taken  boldly,  and  unchecked,  to  the  obla- 
tions again. 

But  in  the  end  inspection -day  found  that  white 
bit  of  land  white  as  ever,  nay,  whiter  against  the 
dark  finger  which  pointed  at  it  accusingly  ;  since, 
as  ill-luck  would  have  it,  what  only  the  natives 
themselves  may  call  a  Black  Judge  was  the  in- 
specting officer.  A  most  admirable  young  Bachelor 
of  Arts  from  the  Calcutta  University,  full  to  the 
brim  of  solid  virtue,  and  utterly  devoid  of  any 
sneaking  sentimental  sympathy  with  the  quips  and 
cranks  of  poor  humanity;  those  lichens  of  life  which 
make  its  rough  rocks  and  Avater-worn  boulders  so 
beautiful  to  the  seeing  eye.  "  This  must  not  occur," 
he  said,  speaking,  after  the  manner  of  the  alien,  in 
English  to  his  clerk  in  order  to  enhance  his  dignity. 
"  It  is  gross  negligence  of  common  orders.  Write 
as  warning  that  if  better  map  be  not  forthcoming, 


264  A   BIT   OF   LAND 

locum  tenens  loses  appointment  with  adverse  influ- 
ence on  hereditary  claims." 

Adverse  influence  on  hereditary  claims  !  The 
words,  translated  brutally,  as  only  clerks  can  trans- 
late, sent  poor  old  Tulsi  into  an  agony  of  remorse 
and  resolve. 

A  month  afterwards  Kishnu  spoke  to  the  head- 
men. "  The  Three-Legged-One  hath  driven  the 
putwari  crazy,"  she  said.  "  Remove  it  from  him 
or  he  will  die.     Justice  I     Justice!" 

So  it  was  removed  and  hidden  away  with  obloquy 
in  an  outhouse  ;  whereupon  he  sat  and  cried  that 
he  had  ruined  Gurdit  —  Gurdit  the  light  of  his 
eyes! 

"Heed  not  the  Bengali,"  they  said  at  last  in 
sheer  despair.  ''  He  is  a  fool.  Thou  shalt  come 
with  us  to  the  big  Sahib.  He  will  understand, 
seeing  that  he  is  more  our  race  than  the  other." 

That  is  how  it  came  to  pass  that  Tulsi  Ram  sat 
on  the  stucco  steps  of  an  Englishman's  house,  point- 
ing with  a  trembling  but  truthful  finger  at  a  white 
spot  among  the  green,  while  a  circle  of  bearded 
Jats  informed  the  Presence  that  Sri  Hunuman  him- 
self was  not  wiser  nor  better  than  their  jmtwari. 

"  And  how  do  i/oii  account  for  it  ?  I  mean  what 
do  you  think  it  is  ? "  asked  the  foreign  voice  curi- 
ously. 

The  wrinkles   on   Tulsi's   forehead   grew  deeper, 


A   BIT    OF   LAND  265 

his  bright  yet  dim  eyes  looked  wistfully  at  the 
master  of  his  fate.  "  'Tis  an  over-large  margin  of 
error,  Huzoo7\  owing  to  lack  of  control  over  the 
plane-table.  That  is  what  the  book  says  :  that  is 
what  Gurdit  will  say." 

"  But  what  do  you  say  ?  How  do  you  think  that 
bit  of  land  came  into  your  village  ?  " 

Tulsi  hesitated,  gained  confidence  somehow  from 
the  blue  eyes  :  "  Unless  Purumeshuar  sent  a  bit  of 
another  world  ?  "  he  suggested  meekly. 

The  Englishman  stood  for  a  moment  looking 
down  on  the  wizened  monkey-like  face,  the  truth- 
ful finger,  the  accusing  white  spot.  ''  I  think  he 
has,"  he  said  at  last.  "  Go  home,  Tulsi,  and  colour 
it  blue.     I'll  pass  it  as  a  bit  of  Paradise." 

So  that  year  there  was  a  blue  patch,  like  a  tank 
where  no  tank  should  be,  upon  the  village  map, 
and  the  old  putivai^i's  conscience  found  peace  in 
the  correct  total  of  the  columns  of  figures  which 
he  added  together;  while  the  Three-Legged-One, 
released  from  durance  vile  at  his  special  request, 
stood  in  the  corner  garlanded  with  the  marigolds 
of  thanksgiving.  Perhaps  that  was  the  reason  why, 
next  mapping  season,  the  patch  of  Paradise  had 
shrunk  to  half  its  original  size  ;  or  perhaps  it  was 
that  he  really  had  more  control  over  the  plane- 
table.  At  any  rate  he  treated  it  more  as  a  friend 
by  spreading  its  legs  very  wide  apart,  covering   it 


266  A   BIT    OF    LAND 

with  his  white  cotton  shawl,  and  so  using  it  as  a 
tent,  when  the  sun  was  over  hot. 

And  yet  when,  on  Gurdit's  return  from  college 
with  a  first-class  surveyor's  certificate.  Paradise 
became  absorbed  in  a  legitimate  margin  of  error, 
there  was  a  certain  Avistful  regret  in  old  Tulsi's 
pride,  and  he  said  that,  being  an  ignorant  old  man, 
it  was  time  he  returned  to  find  Paradise  in  another 
way. 

"But  thou  shalt  not  leave  us  for  the  wilderness 
as  before,"  swore  the  Jats  in  council.  "  Lo  !  Gurdit 
is  young  and  hasty,  and  thou  wilt  be  needed  to 
settle  the  disputes ;  so  we  will  give  thee  a  saintly 
sitting  of  thy  very  own  in  our  village." 

But  Tulsi  objected.  The  fields  were  the  fields, 
he  said,  and  the  houses  were  the  houses  ;  it  only 
led  to  difficulties  to  put  odd  bits  of  land  into  a 
map,  and  he  would  be  quite  satisfied  to  sit  any- 
where. In  the  end,  however,  he  had  t*o  give  in, 
for  when  he  died,  after  many  years  spent  in  settling 
disputes,  some  one  suggested  that  he  really  had 
been  Sri  Hunuman  himself  ;  at  any  rate,  he  was 
a  saint.  So  the  white  spot  marking  a  shrine  re- 
appeared in  the  map,  to  show  whence  the  old  man 
had  passed  to  the  Better  Land. 


THE   SORROWFUL   HOUR 

It  was  one  of  those  blue  days  which  come  to 
the  plains  of  Upper  India  when  the  rains  of  early 
September  have  ceased,  leaving  the  heat-weary, 
dust-soiled  world  regenerate  by  baptism. 

A  light  breeze  sent  westering  ripples  along  the 
pools  of  water  filling  each  shallow  depression,  and 
stirred  the  fine  fretwork  of  an  acacia  set  thick  with 
little  odorous  puffs,  sweet  as  a  violet.  Despite  the 
ruddy  glow  of  the  sinking  sun,  the  shadows,  far 
and  near,  still  kept  their  marvellous  blue  —  a  clear 
porcelain  blue,  showing  the  purity  of  the  rain- 
washed  air.  A  painter  need  have  used  but  three 
colours  in  reproducing  the  scene  —  red  and  blue 
and  yellow  in  the  sky ;  russet  and  blue  and  gold 
in  the  tall  battalions  of  maize  and  millet  half- 
conquered  by  the  sickle,  which  stood  in  shadowed 
squares  or  lay  in  sunlit  reaches,  right  away  to  the 
level  horizon. 

Russet  and  blue  and  gold,  also,  in  the  dress  of 
a  woman  who  was  crouching  against  the  palisade 
of  plaited  tiger-grass,   which   formed   two   sides   of 

267 


268  THE    SORROWFUL    HOUR 

the  well-homestead.  Seen  upon  this  dull  gold 
diaj^er,  her  madder-red  veil  and  blue  petticoat,  with 
their  corn-coloured  embroideries,  seemed  to  blend 
and  be  lost  in  the  harvest  scene  beyond,  even  the 
pools  of  water  finding  counterpart  in  the  bits  of 
looking-glass  gleaming  here  and  there  among  her 
ample  drapery.  She  was  a  woman  who  in  other 
countries  would  have  been  accounted  in  the  prime 
of  life  ;  in  India,  past  it.  Yet,  as  she  crouched  — 
her  whole  body  tense  in  the  effort  of  listening 
—  every  line  of  her  strong  face  and  form  showed 
that  she  was  not  past  the  prime  of  passion. 

''  Ari !  Heart's  delight !  See,  O  father  !  Yon 
is  his  fifth  step,  and  still  he  totters  not.  What ! 
wouldst  crawl  again?  Oh  !  fie  upon  such  laziness." 
The  high,  girlish  voice  from  Avithin  the  palisade 
paused  in  a  gurgle  of  girlish  laughter.  "  Say,  O 
father !  looks  he  not,  thus  poised  hands  and  feet, 
for  all  the  world  like  the  monkey  people  in  Gopal's 
shop  when  they  would  be  at  the  sweets  ?  Ai !  my 
brother!  what  hast  found  in  the  dust?  Cry  not, 
heart's  life.  Mother  will  give  it  back  to  Chujju 
again.  So,  that  is  good  !  Holy  Ganeshji !  Naught 
but  a  grain  of  corn  !  Art  so  hungry  as  all  that, 
my  little  pecking  pigeon,  my  little  bird  from 
heaven?" 

"Little  glutton,  thou  meanest,"  chuckled  a  base 
voice.     "Still,  of  a  truth,  O  Maya,  the  boy  grows." 


THE   SORROWFUL   HOUR  269 

"Grows?  I  tell  thee  he  hath  grown.  See  you 
not  this  two-year-old  hath  turned  farmer  already  ? 
He  comes  to  bargain  with  thee,  having  his  corn 
in  his  hand.  Give  him  a  good  price,  to  handsel 
his  luck,   O  Gurditta  Lnmberdar."  ^ 

"  I  will  pay  thee  for  him,  O  wife  !  Sure,  hast 
thou  not  given  me  the  boy,  and  shall  I  not  pay 
my  debt?  Nay,  I  am  not  foolish,  as  thou  sayest. 
What !  Wouldst  have  me  kiss  thee  also,  little 
rogue?  So!  Yet  do  I  love  mother  best  —  best 
of  all." 

The  woman  behind  the  palisade  stood  up  sud- 
denly. Tall  as  she  was,  the  feathery  tops  of  the 
tiofer-ofrass  rose  taller  ;  so  she  could  stand,  even  as 
she  had  crouched,  unseen.  Unseeing  also.  Other 
women  might  have  lent  eyes  to  aid  their  ears,  but 
Saraswati  was  no  spy  —  no  eavesdropper  by  intent, 
either.  The  lacquered  spinning-wheel,  the  wheat- 
straw  basket  piled  with  downy  cotton  cards  which 
lay  on  the  ground  beside  her,  testified  to  what  her 
occupation  had  been,  till  something  —  Heaven  knows 
what,  for  she  heard  such  light-hearted  babble  every 
day  —  in  tliose  careless  voices  roused  her  pent-up 
jealousy  beyond  the  dead  level  of  patience.  She 
was  not  jealous  of  the  child.  Ah,  no  !  not  of  the 
child.  Was  it  not  for  the  sake  of  such  a  one  that 
three  years  before  she  had  given  Maya,  his  mother, 
1  Head-man  of  village. 


270  THE   SOKKOWFUL    HOUR 

a  dignified  welcome  to  the  childless  home?  But 
Mil}' a?  Ah  I  well  was  she  called  Maya — the  wximan 
prolific  of  deceit  and  illusion,  of  whom  the  pundits 
spoke ;  Avoman,  not  content  with  being  the  child- 
bringer,  but  seeking Saraswati's  large,  capa- 
ble hands  closed  in  upon  themselves  tightly.  She 
did  not  need  to  peer  through  the  plaited  chinks 
to  know  the  scene  within.  She  saw  it  burnt  in 
upon  her  slow,  constant  brain.  The  tall  bearded 
man  of  her  own  age  —  her  own  type  —  her  kins- 
man —  the  patient,  kindly  husband  of  her  youth ; 
the  child  —  his  naked  brown  limbs  dimpled  still 
more  by  silver  circlets  on  wrists  and  ankles  ;  those 
curving,  dimpling  limbs,  which,  somehow,  made 
her  heart  glad ;  and  between  them,  degrading 
them  both,  Maya,  Avith  her  petty,  pretty  face,  her 
petty,  pretty  ways. 

Suddenly,  as  it  had  come,  the  passion  passed  — 
passed  into  that  curious  resignation,  that  impassive 
acquiescence,  which  does  more  to  separate  East  from 
West  than  all  the  seas  which  lie  between  England 
and  India. 

"  Old  Dhunnu  said  sooth,"  she  muttered,  stooping 
to  gather  up  her  wheel  and  bobbins  methodically. 
"  'Tis  the  child  which  makes  him  love  her,  and  I 
have  been  a  fool  to  doubt  it.  I  \vill  delay  no 
longer." 

Behind  the  low  mud  houses,  angled  so  as  to  form 


THE   SORROWFUL   HOUR  271 

two  sides  of  the  sqviare,  four  or  five  jujube  trees 
clustered  thickly,  and  beneath  them  the  dark  green 
whips  of  the  jasmine  bushes  curved  to  the  ground 
like  a  fountain  set  with  blossoms.  Hence,  and  from 
the  straggling  rose  hard  by,  the  women  in  the  early 
dawn  gathered  flowers  for  the  chaplets  used  in 
the  worship  of  the  gods.  There  were  so  many 
occasions  requiring  such  offerings  ;  sorrowful  hours 
and  joyful  hours,  whether  they  were  of  birth,  or 
marriage,  or  death.  Who  could  say,  till  the  end 
came,  whether  they  were  one  or  the  other  ?  Only 
this  was  certain,  flowers  were  needed  for  them  all. 
Towards  this  thicket  Saraswati,  still  with  the 
same  impassive  face,  made  her  way,  pausing  an  in- 
stant before  the  long,  low,  mud  manger  where  her 
favourite  milch  cow  stood  tethered,  to  stroke  its 
soft  muzzle  and  give  it  a  few  tall  stalks  of  millet 
from  a  sheaf  resting  against  the  well-wheel.  And 
once  more  the  scene  was  red  and  blue  and  gold, 
as  the  broad  yellow  leaves  and  blood-streaked  stems 
blent  with  her  dress.  There  was  not  a  change  in 
her  face,  as,  parting  the  branches,  she  disappeared 
into  the  thicket,  scattering  the  loose  blossoms  as 
she  went ;  not  a  change,  Avhen  after  a  minute  or 
two,  she  reappeared,  carrying  a  little  basket  with 
a  domed  cover,  securely  fastened  by  many  strands 
of  raw  cotton  thread,  such  as  she  had  been  spin- 
ning—  a  basket  of    wheaten   straw  festooned   with 


272  THE    SORROWFUL   HOUR 

cowries,  and  tufted  with  parti-coloured  tassels,  such 
as  the  Jatni  women  make  for  the  safe  keeping  of 
feminine  trifles  —  an  innocent-looking  basket,  sug- 
gestive of  beads  and  trinkets.  She  paused  a  mo- 
ment, holding  it  to  her  ear,  and  then  for  the  first 
time  a  faint  smile  flickered  about  her  mouth  as 
she  caught  a  curious  rasping  noise,  half-purr,  half- 
rustle. 

"  Death  hath  a  long  life,"  she  murmured,  as  she 
hid  the  basket  in  the  voluminous  folds  of  her  veil 
and  walked  over  to  the  homestead.  As  she  entered 
by  a  wide  gap  in  the  plaited  palisade,  the  scene 
within  was  even  as  slie  had  imagined  it ;  but  the 
barb  had  struck  home  before,  and  the  actual  sight 
did  not  enhance  her  resentment. 

"  It  grows  late,  O  Maya,"  she  said  coldly.  "  Leave 
playing  with  the  child  and  see  to  the  fire  for  the 
cooking  of  our  lord's  food.  Thou  hast  scarce  left 
an  ember  aglow  beneath  the  lentils  while  I  Avas 
yonder  spinning." 

The  reproof  was  no  more  than  what  might  come 
with  dignity  from  an  elder  wife ;  but  Gurditta, 
lounging  his  long  length  in  well-earned  rest  on  a 
string  bed,  rose,  murmuring  something  of  seeing  to 
the  plough  oxen  ere  supper  time.  The  big  man 
was  dimly  dissatisfied  with  affairs  ;  he  felt  a  vague 
desire  to  behave  better  towards  the  Avoman  who 
had  been  his  faithful  companion  for  so  many  years. 


THE   SOKROWFUL    HOUR  273 

But  for  her,  he  knew  well,  things  would  go  but 
ill  in  the  little  homestead  by  the  well.  Yet  Maya 
was  so  pretty.  What  man,  still  undulled  by  age, 
would  not  do  as  he  did  ?  For  all  that,  the  little 
capricious  thing  might  be  more  friendly  with  Sara- 
swati ;  there  was  no  need  for  her  to  snatch  Chujju 
in  her  arms  whenever  the  latter  looked  at  the  child. 
But  then  women  —  and  Maya  was  a  thorough  woman 
—  were  always  so  fearful  of  the  evil  eye.  Fancy 
her  calling  that  straight-limbed,  utterly  desirable 
son,  Chujju,!  as  if  any  one  would  cast  such  a  gift 
away  in  the  sweeper's  pan  !  As  if  the  gods  them- 
selves, far  off  as  they  were,  could  be  deceived  by 
such  a  palpable  fraud,  or  even  by  that  ridiculous 
smudge  of  charcoal  on  the  boy's  face  which  only 
enhanced  instead  of  detracting  from  its  beauty ! 
Gurditta  laughed  a  deep,  broad  laugh  as  he  strewed 
the  long  manger  with  corn  cobs  and  green  stuff 
cut  from  the  fodder  field  by  the  well. 

Meanwhile,  within  the  house  yard,  Maya  was 
sullenly  blowing  away  at  the  embers  held  in  the 
semicircular  mud  fireplaces  ranged  along  one  of 
the  Avails.  A  grass  thatch,  supported  by  two  forked 
sticks,  protected  this,  the  kitchen  of  the  house, 
from  possible  rain  and  certain  sun ;  while  on  the 
other  wall  a  similar  screen  did  like  duty  to  a  triple 

1  From  chujj,  a  sweeper's  basket.     One  of  the  many  opprobrious 
names  given  to  avert  tlie  envious,  and  tlierefore  evil,  eye. 


274  THE   SORROAYFUL   HOUR 

row  of  niches  or  pigeon-holes,  wherein  the  house- 
hold stores  in  immediate  use  were  kept  out  of 
harm's  way.  For  the  rest,  was  a  clean-swept  ex- 
panse of  beaten  earth  set  round,  after  the  fashion 
in  a  farmer's  house,  with  implements  and  hive-like 
stores  of  grain.  Between  the  one  thatch  and  the 
other  Saraswati  moved  restlessly,  bringing  pickles 
and  spices  as  they  were  wanted.  And  still  the 
basket  lay  tucked  away  in  the  folds  of  her  veil. 

"  The  raw  sugar  is  nigh  done,"  she  said,  stooping 
with  her  back  towards  Maya  to  reach  the  lowest 
row  of  niches. 

"  We  must  use  the  candy  to-night,  till  I  can  open 
the  big  store.  Luckily  I  bought  some  when  we 
took  the  Diwali  ^  sweets  from  Gopal."  Then,  ere 
she  replaced  the  cloth  in  which  the  sweetmeats 
were  tied,  she  held  out  a  sugar  horse  to  the  child, 
who  was  playing  by  his  mother.  "  Here,  Chujju, 
wilt  have  one  ?  " 

Maya  was  on  her  feet  at  once,  indignant,  vehe- 
ment. 

"  Thou  shouldst  not  offer  him  such  things.  He 
shall  not  take  tliem  from  thee.  I  will  not  have  it. 
Nay,  nay,  my  bird  —  my  heart's  delight  !  Mother 
will  give  thee  sweets  enough.  Kick  not  so,  life  of 
my  life !  Ganesh  !  how  he  cries.  He  will  burst  : 
and    'tis    thy    fault.     Hush,    hush !      See,    here    is 

1  For  the  most  part,  sugar  animals,  such  as  are  sold  at  English  fairs. 


THE   SORROWFUL    HOUR  275 

mother's  milk.  Ai !  wicked  one !  would  bite  ? 
Ye  gods,  but  'tis  a  veritable   Toorh  for  temper." 

Hushing  the  child  in  her  arms,  she  walked  up 
and  down,  followed  by  Saraswati's  calm,  big  black 
eyes. 

"  Thou  art  a  fool,  Maya,"  she  said  slowly,  putting 
down  the  sugar  horse.  "  Gopal's  sweets  would  not 
have  hurt  the  child  so  much  as  thy  spitefulness." 
Then  she  turned  to  her  work  ag-ain  amone  the 
niches.  When  she  rose  the  basket  was  in  her 
hand,  the  threads  were  broken,  and  the  cover  tilted 
as  if  something  slender  and  supple  had  been  allowed 
to  slip  out.  Perhaps  it  had,  for  behind  the  sugar 
horse,  standing  in  the  lowermost  niche,  two  specks 
of  fire  gleamed  from  the  shadow.  It  was  growing 
dark  now,  but  the  harvest  moon  riding  high  in 
the  heavens  and  the  now  flaming  fire  aided  the 
dying  daylight,  and  a  curious  radiance,  backed  by 
velvety  shadows,  lay  on  everything. 

"  I  must  sweep  out  the  niches  thoroughly  to- 
morrow," she  said  indifferently.  "  Methought  just 
now  I  heard  the  rustle  as  of  a  jelaU>  They  love 
to  hide  in  such  places,  and  therefore  I  bid  thee  but 
yesterday  see  to  their  cleansing.  But,  sure,  what 
work  is  done  in  this  house  mine  must  be  the  hand 

1  EcMs  carinata,  the  Indian  viper.  It  lies  coiled  in  a  true-lover's 
knot,  rustling  its  scales  one  against  the  other.  It  is  the  most  vicious 
and  irritable  of  all  Indian  snakes. 


276  THE    SORROWFUL   HOUR 

to  do  it.  See  to  your  lentils,  sister ;  methinks 
they  burn  at  the   bottom." 

Maya,  with  a  petulant  shrug  of  her  shoulders, 
set  doAvn  the   child. 

''Such  work  spoils  my  hands,  and  —  and  —  folk 
like  them  pretty." 

Even  she,  town  born  and  town  bred,  did  not 
dare  before  this  grave-eyed  peasant  Avoman  to 
name  her  husband's  name  in  such  a  connection,^  but 
Saraswati  understood  the  allusion,  and  the  simple, 
straightforward  naturalism  drawn  from  ages  of 
rural  life  which  was  her  heritage,  rose  up  in  arms 
against  such  depravity.  But  even  as  she  lashed 
herself  to  revenge  by  the  thought,  ever}  thing  that 
was  stable  seemed  to  shift,  all  that  moved  to  stand 
still.  Her  heart  ceased  beating,  the  walls  span 
round,  the  moon  quivered,  the  flames  grew  rigid. 
Ah,  no  !  one  thing  that  moved  would  not  pause. 
Chujju  had  caught  sight  of  the  sugar  horse,  and 
was  creeping  towards  it,  now  on  his  little  fat  hands, 
now  tottering  on  his  little  fat  feet,  his  glistening 
eyes  fixed  on  the  niche  which  held  those  gleaming 
specks  of  fire.  ^ 

No  !  nothing  was  too  bad  for  Maya  ;  and  Dhunnu, 
the  wise  woman,  had  been  right  when  she  said 
that  the  charm  lay  in  the  child.     It  must  be  so  — 

1  A  husbaini's  name  should  never  be  mentioned  by  a  wife, 
especially  in  matters  referring  to  herself. 


THE   SORROWFUL   HOUR  277 

and  death  was  naught.  There  !  he  was  close  now, 
one  little  hand  stretched  out,  the  dimples  showing 
_the Ah! 

A  cry,  fierce,  almost  imperative,  and  Saraswati 
had  him  in  her  arms,  while  something  slim  and 
grey  fell  from  the  niche  in  its  spring,  and  wriggled 
behind  a  pile  of  brushwood. 

*'  I  saw  its  eyes,"  she  gasped,  still  straining  the 
child  to  her  ample  bosom,  when  Gurditta,  brought 
thither  by  Maya's  screams  of  "  Snake  !  snake !  " 
stood  beside  her,  his  breath  coming  fast,  his  man- 
liness stirred  to  its  depths. 

Maya  saw  the  danger  swiftly.  "  Give  liim  to 
me,"  she  clamoured.  ''  O  husband,  make  her  give 
him  to  me.  She  would  kill  him  if  she  could. 
She  put  it  there  —  I  saw  her  put  it  there  —  I 
swear  it." 

Saraswati  turned  on  her  in  calm  contempt. 
"  Thou  liest,  O  Maya ;  since  Time  began,  spirit  of 
deceit  and  mother  of  illusion.  Thou  didst  not 
see  me  put  it  there." 

Then,  Avith  the  same  dignity,  she  turned  to  the 
man. 

"Master!  Take  the  child.  He  is  safe.  This 
much  is  true,  I  saved  him." 

That  night,  when  the  moon  still  shone  in  the 
cloudless  sky,  Saraswati,  her   veil   wrapped   closely 


278  THE   SORROWFUL   HOUR 

round  her,  stole  softly  from   the  homestead.     Past 
the  resting  oxen,  out  among  the  serried  battalions 
of  maize  and  millet,  where  the  tall  sheaves,  lying 
prone   on   the   ground,    looked   like   the    bodies    of 
those  who  had  fallen  in  the  day's  fight;    down  on 
the  sun-cracked   borders  of   the  tank,  whence   the 
water  was  sinking  swiftly,  now  the  rain  had  ceased ; 
by  the  ghostly  peepul  trees,  shorn  of  their  branches 
which    the    camels    love,    and    looking    weird    and 
human  with  great  arms  stretched  skywards ;  so  on 
to  the  burning  ghat  beyond,  with  its   little    cones 
of  mud   marking   the    spot   of    each   funeral   pyre, 
and   the   twinkling   lights   set   here    and   there    by 
pious  survivors.      Saraswati   drew  her  veil   tighter 
and   sped    faster   as   she    passed   through  the   more 
recent  ashes,  as  yet  uncovered,  but  swept  into  little 
heaps  ;  and  there  —  horrible  sight !  —  still  scattered, 
with  the  uncalcined  bones  gleaming  in  the  moon- 
light, and  a  faint  line   of  smoke   still  circling  up- 
wards, lay  the  most  recent  of   all.     That  must  be 
old  Anant  Ram,  the   klmttri  (merchant)   who   had 
died  that  morning  :  an  evil  man,  come  to  his  end. 
She  was  trembling  ere  she  reached  the  hut  where 
Dhun    Devi,    the    wise    woman,    kept    watch    and 
ward  over  the   ashes.     It  was   a  miserable   shanty, 
where    she   found   the    old  woman    asleep   before  a 
large   iron  pot,  supported  on  a  trivet.     Beneath  it 
some   cowdung   cakes   smouldered   slowly,  yet   not 


THE   SOKKOWFUL   HOUR  279 

SO  slowly  but  that  every  now  and  again  a  blood- 
ied bubble  showed  on  the  contents  of  the  pot. 
A  flarmg  oil-lamp,  iilched,  doubtless,  from  those 
outside,  stood  in  a  smoke-blackened  niche,  and  by 
its  light  you  could  see  festoons  of  dank,  blood-red 
drapery  clinging  to  a  rope,  while,  with  a  drip,  drip, 
drip,  something  fell  upon  the  floor  —  something 
which  ran  in  rills  right  out  to  the  moonlight, 
and,  sinking  into  the  sand,  stained  it  blood-red; 
a  ghastly  setting  to  the  wise  woman's  crouching 
figure,  even  though  SarasAvati  knew  that  Mai 
Dhunnu  was  engaged  in  no  more  nefarious  occu- 
pation than  dyeing  the  webs  of  her  ignorant 
neio'hbours  with  madder. 

The  old  crone  stood  up  hastily,  then  sank  to 
her  low  stool  again  when  she  had  peered  into  her 
visitor's  face.  "Thou  wilt  not  tell,"  she  whis- 
pered in  a  hoarse  croak,  which,  coming  in  realit}^ 
from  a  throat  affection,  vastly  enhanced  her  claims 
to  wisdom  in  the  eyes  of  the  villagers.  "Thou 
art  of  the  old  style  ;  not  like  these  apes  of  to-day, 
with  their  dog-eared  books  and  their  dyes  which 
fade  before  a  January  sun."  The  chuckle  she  gave 
suited  her  surroundings  well ;  so  did  the  claw-like 
hand  she  laid  suddenly  on  Saraswati's  firm  arm. 
"  Well,  daughter  !  Hast  plucked  up  courage  ? 
Hast  learnt  to  trust  the  wisdom  of  old  Dhun 
Devi?" 


280  THE   SORROWFUL    HOUR 

Saraswati  shook  her  head.  ''  Thou  must  find 
other  wisdom  for  me,  mother,"  she  said  briefly. 
"Such  is  not  for  me." 

"  Obstinate  !  I  tell  thee  'tis  the  glamour  of  the 
child." 

"'Tis  not  the  child,  though  the  gods  know  the 
poison  hath  bit  deeper  somehow  since  he  came. 
Lo  !  I  have  tried  it,  and  'tis  not  my  way.  Nor 
would  I  kill  her.  That  were  too  trivial,  seeing 
she  is  not  worth  life.  I  want  but  my  share.  It 
is  empty  here,  emptier  than  ever,  somehow,  since 
the  boy  was  born." 

She  clasped  her  strong  hands  above  her  heart. 
The  glow  of  the  fire,  spreading  as  the  old  woman 
fanned  it  with  the  tremulous  breath  of  age,  lit  up 
the  big  black  brows  knit  above  the  puzzled  black 
eyes. 

Dhun  Devi  straightened  her  bent  back,  and 
looked  at  her  companion  critically. 

"  Life  is  more  than  the  shadow  of  a  passing  bird 
to  such  as  thou,  O  Saraswati  !  'Tis  not  wise.  For 
death  is  naught,  and  life  is  naught.  The  soul  of 
man  circles  ever,  like  the  potter's  wheel,  upon  its 
pivot.  Have  I  not  seen  it  ?  Have  I  not  known 
it  ?  Did  I  not  go  through  the  night  of  a  thousand 
dangers  myself,  and  bring  five  stalwart  sons  into 
the  day  ?  Wliere  are  they  ?  Have  they  not  passed 
into  the  dark  again?     Have  not  my  hands  piloted 


THE   SORROWFUL   HOUR  281 

many  through  the  Sorrowful  Hour  and  sent  many 
from  it  ?  Lo  I  the  snake  woukl  not  have  harmed 
the  child." 

''  I  care  not  if  thou  speakest  truth  or  not,  O 
mother,  though  thou  art  learned  above  women  in 
such  thoughts,  I  know,"  muttered  Saraswati  sul- 
lenly, with  drooping  head.  "  Only  this  I  know, 
that  w^ay  is  not  mine.  There  must  be  others.  See  I 
I  have  brought  thee  my  golden  armlet.  Dliun^ 
w^as  ever  as  a  sign-post  to  Dhun  Devi.     Is  't  not  so  ?  " 

The  old  dame's  fingers  closed  greedily  on  the 
bribe,  careless  of  the  open  sneer  which  accompanied 
it.  "  Ways  ?  "  she  echoed.  "  Of  a  surety  there 
are  ways,  but  none  so  simple  as  death." 

''  Ay,"  said  Saraswati  quietly,  "  I  have  thought 
of  that.  The  well  is  deep,  and  the  little  feathery 
ferns  in  the  crannies  look  kind.  But  they  would 
say  Saraswati,  the  Jatni,  had  been  ousted  from 
her  own  well-land  by  a  stranger,  and  that  is  not 
so.  I  heed  not  the  girl ;  deceit  is  her  portion. 
'Tis  something  here."  Again  she  laid  her  hand 
on  her  heart  with  a  puzzled  look.  "  Nor  do  I 
want  him  only.  Couldst  thou  not  turn  the  child's 
mind  to  me,  so  that,  seeing  his  love,  Gurditta 
would  hold  me  dearer  also?" 

Dhun  Devi  shook  her  head,  but  her  keen,  bright 
old  eyes  were  on  the  other's  face. 
1  Worldly- wealth. 


282  THE   SORROWFUL   HOUR 

"  There  is  a  way,"  she  whispered,  after  a  pause, 
"but  death  lurks  in  it  often  with  such  as  thou." 

"Whose  death?" 

"Thine  own.  Do  not  all  women  know  how 
the   Sorrowful   Hour " 

Saraswati  caught  the  withered  wrist  in  a  fierce 
clasp. 

"  Mai!  "  she  panted  ;  "  Mai  Dhunnu  !  Dost  speak 
of  the  Sorrowful  Hour  to  me  —  to  me  —  after  all 
these  years!     Is  there  hope  —  hope  even  yet?" 

"If  thou  art  not  afraid " 

"Afraid!" 

****** 

It  was  sunrise  in  the  homestead,  and  a  new 
harvest  was  waiting  in  battalions  for  the  sickle. 
The  jasmine  fountain  showered  its  green  stems 
to  the  ground,  but  it  was  bare  of  blossoms.  They 
hung  in  chaplets  from  the  thatch  screen  beneath' 
which,  on  that  stifling  August  night,  a  woman 
had  been  passing  through  her  Sorrowful  Hour. 
In  the  dim  dawn  the  little  oil-lamps  set  about 
the  bed  flickered  uncertainly  in  the  breeze  Avhich 
heralds  the  day,  and  glinted  now  and  again  on 
the  lucky  knife  suspended  by  the  twist  of  lucky 
threads  above  the  pillow.  In  a  brazier  hard  by 
some  pungent  spices  scattered  upon  charcoal  sent 
up  a  clear  blue  line,  like  the  last  faint  smoke 
from  a   funeral   pyre.     All  that   wisdom   could   do 


THE   SORROWFUL   HOUR  283 

Dliun  Devi  hud  done,  but  a  dead  girl-baby  lay  be- 
tween Saraswati  and  the  harvest  visible  through 
the  gap  in  the  plaited  palisade.  The  midwife 
shook  her  head  as  she  peered  into  the  unconscious 
face  on  the  pillow. 

"Only  a  girl,  after  all  the  fuss,"  came  Maya's 
high,  clear  voice,  as  she  sat  cuddling  Chujju  in 
her  soft  round  arms— Chujju,  whom  the  gods  had 
spared.  "To  die  for  a  girl  —  for  a  dead  girl,  too  — 
what  foolishness  I  But  'twas  her  own  fault.  'Tis 
bad  enough  for  us  young  ones,  and  dear  payment, 
after  all,  for  the  fun;  and  she  had  escaped  all 
these  years " 

Dhun  Devi's  claw-like  fingers  stopped  the  liquid 
flow  of  words. 

"  Go,  infamous  !  "  she  Avhispered  fiercely.  "  Such 
as  thou  are  not  mothers.  Thou  art  Maya,  the 
desire  of  the  flesh.  Go,  lest  I  curse  the  child  for 
thy  sake." 

With  a  little  shriek  of  dismay,  half-real,  half- 
pretended,  the  girl  gathered  the  sleeping  child  in 
her  arms  and  disappeared  into  the  huts. 

"The  wheel  slackens  on  its  pivot,"  muttered 
the  old  woman,  stooping  again  over  the  still  form 
on  the  bed.  "I  must  get  her  to  Mother  Earth, 
as  a  seed  to  the  soil,  ere  it  stops." 

She  stood  at  the  gap  and  called.  The  fine  fret- 
work  of   the   acacia   branches   showed   against   the 


284  THE   SORROWFUL   HOUR 

growing  blue  of  the  sky.  The  little  golden  puffs 
sent  their  violet  perfume  into  the  air.  A  bird 
sat  among  them,  chirruping  to  its  mate. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  and  the  tall  bearded  man 
followed  her  meekly.  Together  —  he  at  the  head, 
she  at  the  feet  —  they  laid  Saraswati  on  the 
ground  with  the  dead  child,  half-hidden  in  her 
veil,  still  between  her  and  the  great  stretch  of 
harvest  beyond. 

Suddenly,  roused  by  the  movement,  she  stirred 
slightly,  and  the  big  black  eyes  opened.  Dhun 
Devi  gripped  the  man's  hand  as  if  to  detain  him. 

"  The  child  —  is  it  well  with  the  child  ?  "  came 
in  a  faint  voice. 

Dhun  Devi's  clasp  gripped  firmer ;  a  look  recall- 
ing long  past  years  came  to  her  face. 

"  Yea^  mother^  it  is  well;  thy  son  sleeps  in  thine 
arms.'" 

Then,  craning  up  from  her  crooked  old  age  to 
reach  his  ear,  she  whispered  swiftly : 

"  Say  'tis  so  if  thou  art  a  man,  and  bid  her 
God-speed  on  her  journey." 

So,  with  her  husband's  hand  in  hers,  a  child  in 
her  arms,  and  a  smile  on  her  face,  came  the  end 
of  Saraswati's  Sorrowful  Hour. 


A  DANGER   SIGNAL 

They  were  an  odd  couple.  The  very  trains  as 
they  sped  past  level  crossing  Number  57  gave  a 
low  whistle  as  if  the  oddities  struck  them  afresh 
each  time,  and  Craddock  always  went  to  the  side 
of  the  cab,  whence  he  could  see  those  two  motion- 
less figures  on  either  side  of  the  regulation  barrier 
which  stood  so  causelessly  in  the  middle  of  the 
sandy  waste. 

There  must  have  been  a  road  somewhere,  of 
course,  else  there  would  have  been  no  level  cross- 
ing, but  it  was  not  visible  to  the  passing  e3^e.  Per- 
haps the  drifting  sand  had  covered  it  up  ;  perhaps 
no  traffic  ever  did  come  that  way,  and  there  really 
was  no  need  for  old  Dhunnu  and  his  granddaughter 
to  stand  like  ill-matched  heraldic  supporters  display- 
ing a  safety  signal.     But  they  did. 

They  had  done  so  ever  since  Dhunni  —  for  the 
name  had  descended  to  her  in  the  feminine  gender 
—  Avas  steady  enough  on  her  feet  to  stand  alone, 
and  before  that,  even,  she  had  given  "line  clear" 
from   her   grandfather's  arms.     For   it  was  always 

285 


286  A   DANGER    SIGNAL 

"line  clear."  No  train  ever  stopped  at  level  cross- 
ing Number  57  of  the  desert  section.  Why  should 
they?  There  was  nothing  to  be  seen  far  or  near 
save  sand,  and  the  little  square  concrete-roofed, 
red-hot  furnace  of  a  place,  suggestive  of  a  crema- 
torium, which  happened  on  that  particular  railway 
to  be  the  approved  pattern  for  a  gatekeeper's 
shelter. 

It  was  very  hot  in  summer,  very  cold  in  winter, 
and  that  was  perhaps  the  reason  why  old  Dhunnu 
suffered  so  much  from  malarial  fever  in  the  au- 
tumn months  ;  those  months  which  might  other- 
wise have  been  so  pleasant  in  the  returning  cool 
of  their  nights,  and  their  promise  of  another  har- 
vest. The  old  man  used  to  resent  this  fever  in 
a  dull  sort  of  way,  because  it  was  so  unnecessary 
in  that  rainless  tract.  To  quiver  and  shake  in  a 
quartian  ague  when  the  battalions  of  maize  are 
pluming  themselves  on  their  own  growth,  and  the 
millet-seeds,  tired  of  cuddling  close  to  each  other, 
are  beginning  to  start  on  lengthening  stemlets  to 
see  the  world,  was  legitimate  ;  but  it  was  quite 
another  thing  to  find  a  difficulty  in  keeping  a  sig- 
nal steady  when  there  was  not  a  drop  of  moisture 
for  miles  and  miles,  save  in  the  little  round  well 
which  had  been  dug  for  the  gatekeeper's  use. 

Dhunnu,  however,  had  served  the  Sirkar  for 
long  years  in   the   malarial   tracts   under   the   hills 


A    DANGER    SIGNAL  287 

before  he  came  as  a  pensioner  to  level  crossing  57, 
and  when  once  the  marsh-monarch  lays  firm  hold 
of  a  man  he  claims  him  as  a  subject  for  all  time. 
It  was  this  difficulty,  no  doubt,  in  keeping  a  sig- 
nal steady  Avhich,  joined  to  the  intense  pleasure 
it  gave  to  the  child,  had  first  led  to  little  Dhunni 
holding  the  green  flag,  while  Dhunnu  on  the  other 
side  of  the  gate  kept  the  furled  red  one  in  his 
shaking  hand  ready  for  emergencies.  Then  the 
train  would  sweep  past  like  a  great  caterpillar 
with  red  and  green  eyes,  and  red  and  green  lights 
in  its  tail,  and  Craddock  would  look  out  of  the 
cab,  and  say  to  himself  that  time  must  be  passing, 
since  the  child  was  shooting  up  into  a  girl.  And 
still  it  was  always  the  green  flag  ;  always  "  line 
clear." 

It  became  monotonous  even  to  Dhunni  who  had 
been  brought  up  to  it,  and  while  her  chubby  hand 
clutched  the  baton  firmly  she  would  look  resent- 
fully across  at  the  furled  red  flag  in  her  grand- 
father's shaking  hand. 

''  Lo  I  ndnna''  she  said  spitefully,  "  some  day  it 
will  shake  so  that  the  cloth  will  shake  itself  out, 
and  then " 

He  interrupted  her  with  dignity,  but  in  the  tone 
in  which  a  tit-mouse  might  reproach  a  tiger-cat ; 
for  Dhunni,  as  he  knew  to  his  cost,  had  a  temper. 

''By    God's    blessing,  oh    Dhun    devi,    that    will 


288  A   DANGER   SIGNAL 

never  be,  since  east  and  west  is  there  no  cause 
sufficient  to  check  progress  ;  and  as  that  is 
by  order  the  green  flag,  so  the  green  flag  it 
will  be." 

Dhunni  made  no  reply  in  words.  She  simply 
flung  the  safety  signal  in  the  dust  and  danced  on 
it  with  a  certain  pompous  vigour  which  made  the 
whity-brown  rag  of  a  petticoat  she  wore  as  sole 
garment,  cease  even  its  pretensions  to  be  called  a 
covering.  For  they  were  very  poor,  these  two  ; 
that  was  evident  from  the  lack  of  colour  in  their 
clothing,  which  made  them  mere  dusty  brown 
shadows  on  the  background  of  brownish  dust. 

''It  shall  be  the  red  one  some  day,  ndnna ! 
Yea  !  some  day  it  shall  be  the  red  flag,  and  then 
the  train  will  stop,  and  then  —  and  then,"  she 
gave  one  vindictive  stamp  to  clinch  the  matter 
and  walked  off  with  her  head  in  the  air.  The  old 
man  watched  her  retreating  flgure  with  shocked 
admiration,  then  picked  up  the  dishonoured  flag, 
dusted  it,  and  rolled  it  up  laboriously. 

"  Lo  ! "  he  muttered  as  a  half-gratified  smile 
claimed  his  haggard  face,  "  she  is  of  the  very  worst 
sort  of  woman  that  the  Lord  makes.  A  virtuous 
man  need  be  prepared  for  such  as  she,  so  'tis  well 
she  is  betrothed  to  a  decent  house.  Meanwdiile  in 
the  wilderness  she  can  come  to  no  liarm." 

So  far  as  the  displaying  of  danger  signals  went. 


A    DANGER    SIGNAL  289 

Dluinni  herself  was  forced  to  admit  the  truth  of 
this  proposition,  for  even  when  the  old  man  lay 
quivering  and  quaking,  he  kept  the  key  of  the  box 
in  which  the  red  flag  was  locked,  safely  stowed 
away  in  his  waistcloth.  Once  she  tried  to  steal  it, 
and  when  discovered  in  the  act,  took  advantage  of 
his  prostration  to  argue  the  matter  out  at  length,  — 
her  position  being  that  the  train  itself  must  be 
as  tired  of  going  on,  as  she  was  of  watching  it. 
Whereupon  he  explained  to  her  with  feverish  viv- 
idness the  terrible  consequences  which  followed  on 
the  unrighteous  stopping  of  trains,  to  all  of  which 
she  acquiesced  with  the  greatest  zest,  even  sug- 
gesting additional  horrors,  until  it  became  a  sort 
of  game  of  brag  between  them  as  whose  imagina- 
tion would  go  the  furthest. 

Finally,  as  she  brought  him  a  cup  of  water 
from  the  well,  she  consoled  both  herself  and  him 
with  the  reflection  tliat  some  day  he  must  die  of 
the  fever,  and  then  of  course  it  would  not  matter 
to  him  if  the  train  stopped  or  not,  while  she 
could  satisfy  herself  as  to  whether  those  funny 
white  people  who  looked  out  of  the  windows  were 
real,  or  only  stuffed  dolls. 

''Ari  hudzart!''  he  whimpered  as  he  lay  pros- 
trate and  perspiring.  "Have  I  not  told  thee 
dozens  of  times  they  are  saliih  logues?  have  I  not 
seen  them  ?  have  I ■  " 


290  A   DANGER   SIGNAL 

"  Trra,""  replied  Dliunni  derisively,  "  that  may 
be.     I  have  not,  but  I  mean  to  some  day." 

Then  the  old  man,  adding  tears  of  weakness  to 
the  general  dissolution,  begged  her,  if  a  train 
must  be  stopped,  to  stop  a  "goods,"  or  even  a 
"mixed."  She  argued  this  point  also  at  length, 
till  the  fever  fiend  leaving  him,  Dhunnu  resumed 
his  authority  and  threatened  to  whack  her,  where- 
upon she  ran  away,  like  a  wild  thing,  into  the 
desert. 

It  was  a  certain  method  of  escape  from  the 
slow  retribution  of  the  old  man,  but  as  often  as 
not  she  would  return  ere  his  anger  had  evaporated 
sooner  than  miss  any  one  of  the  four  caterpillars 
with  the  red  and  green  eyes  and  the  green  and 
red  lights  in  their  tails.  The}^  had  a  fascination 
for  her  which  she  could  not  resist,  so  she  would 
take  her  whacking  and  then  stand,  bruised  and 
sore,  but  brimful  of  curiosity,  to  give  "  line  clear," 
as  it  were,  to  a  Avhole  world  of  Avhich  she  knew 
nothing.  Even  that  was  better  t]ian  having  noth- 
ing to  do  with  it  at  all. 

And  then,  as  her  grandfather  grew  older  and 
feebler,  and  required  a  longer  time  to  fetch  the 
week's  supply  from  the  distant  hamlet  far  over 
the  edge  of  the  sandy  horizon,  there  came  at  last 
a  day  when  she  stood  all  alone  in  the  very  centre 
of  the  closed  gate  liolding  out  tlic   green  flag  and 


A   DANGER    SIGNAL  291 

salaaming  obsequiously,  for  that  was  what  grand- 
father had  done  on  one  or  two  occasions  when, 
owing  to  niconceivable  wickedness,  she  had  been 
made  to  watch  the  passing  of  civilisation  while 
tied    to   a  distant  bed  leg. 

Craddock  from  his  cab  noticed  the  grave  mim- 
icry and  smiled,  whereupon  Dhunni  smiled  back 
brilliantly.  And  then  something  happened  which 
curiously  enough  changed  her  whole  estimate  of 
civilisation,  and  left  her  with  such  an  expression 
on  her  face  that  when  her  grandfather  returned 
half  an  hour  afterwards,  his  first  thouglit  was  for 
the  red  flag.  The  key  was  safe  in  his  waistcloth, 
yet  still  he  began  hurriedly; 

"Thou  didst  not " 

"Nay,"  she  burst  out  in  fury,  "I  did  naught. 
But  theyl—7idn7ia,  I  hate  them!  I  hate  them!" 
Then  it  turned  out  that  the  white  dolls  had 
flung  a  stone  at  her  — a  hard  stone  — yes,  the 
pink  and  white  child-dolls  had  flung  a  stone  at 
her  just  because  she  had  smiled.  So  with  hands 
trembling  with  rage  she  produced  in  evidence  a 
large  chunk  of  chocolate. 

Dhunnu  looked  at  it  in  superior  wisdom,  for 
there  had  been  white  children  sometimes  in  that 
surveying  camp  below  the  hills. 

"  'Tis  no  stone,"  he  said  ;  "  'tis  a  foreign  sweet- 
meat.    They   meant   well,  being   ignorant   that  we 


292  A   DANGER   SIGNAL 

eat  not  such  things.     When  they  first  come  across 
the  black  water  they  will  even  fling  bread." 

As  he  spoke  he  threw  the  offending  morsel  into 
the  desert  and  spat  piously.  Dhunni  looked  after 
it  with  doubt  and  regret  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  deemed  it  a  stone,"  she  said  at  last.  "  Think 
you  it  would  have  been  sweet,  like  our  sweet- 
meats ?  " 

''  AH  hudzart  !  "  cried  the  old  man  again.  "  Lak- 
shmi  be  praised  thou  didst  take  bread  for  a  stone, 
else  wouldst  thou  have  eaten  it  and  have  been  a 
lost  soul." 

''  I  Avould  have  tried  if  I  liked  it,  anyhow,"  said 
Dhunni  shamelessly.  And  that  night,  while  her 
grandfather  slept  in  the  red-hot  furnace  to  avoid 
the  chillness  of  dawn,  the  moon  found  something 
else  on  the  wide  waste  of  sand,  beside  the  crema- 
torium and  the  regulation  barrier,  to  yield  her  the 
tribute  of  a  shadow.  It  was  Dhunni  on  all  fours 
seeking  high  and  low  for  the  chunk  of  chocolate, 
and  when  she  found  it  she  sat  up  with  it  in  her 
little  brown  paws  and  nibbled  away  at  it  for  all 
the  world  like  a  squirrel.  The  result  of  which 
experiment  being  that  she  smiled  brilliantly  at 
every  train  from  that  time  forth,  perhaps  in  hopes 
of  more  chocolate,  perhaps  from  gratitude  for  past 
chocolate,  perhaps  because  she  really  was  beginning 
to  be  more  sensible, 


A   DANGER    SIGNAL  293 

"  It  is  being  born  to  her  in  lavish  manner,"  said 
old  Dhunnu  boastfully  to  an  emissary  of  the  future 
mother-in-law,  who  came  as  far  as  the  village  to 
inquire  of  the  future  bride's  growth  and  health. 
"  Go,  tell  them  she  gives  '  line  clear '  as  Avell  as  I 
do,  but  that  she  is  not  yet  of  an  age  for  the  mar- 
ried state." 

In  his  heart  of  hearts,  however,  he  knew  very 
well  that  the  time  could  not  be  far  distant  when 
he  could  no  longer  delay  parting  with  the  girl, 
who  was  fast  shooting  up  into  a  tall  slip  of  a 
thing.  And  then  what  should  he  do,  for  the  fever 
fiend  had  a  fast  grip  on  him  now  —  a  firmer  hold 
than  he  had  upon  life.  Sometimes  for  days  and 
days  he  could  scarcely  creep  to  the  gate  when  the 
mail  train  passed,  while,  as  for  the  "  goods "  and 
"mixed,"  these  low-caste  trains  he  left  entirely  to 
Dhunni's  mercy;  and  safely,  since  the  desire  for 
the  danger  signal  seemed  to  have  passed  with  the 
possession  of  responsibility  —  and  chocolate  I 

Thus  Dhunni,  far  from  the  eyes  of  the  world, 
which  would  have  sent  her  remorselessly  into  ths 
slavery  of  mother-in-law,  grew  tall  and  slender, 
and  even  in  her  old  dust-coloured  skirt  and  bodice 
caused  Craddock  the  engine-driver,  as  he  sped  by, 
an  occasional  pang  of  regret  as  he  remembered 
another  tall  girl  with  velvety  eyes. 

So   time   passed   until,  as  luck  would   have  it,  a 


294  A   DANGER   SIGNAL 

wedding-party  from  the  village  where  the  future 
mother-in-law  resided  chose  to  try  a  short  cut  over 
the  desert,  and  actually  crossed  the  line  at  level 
crossing  Number  57.  The  result  being  that  Dhun- 
ni's  readiness  for  the  married  state  became  known, 
and  a  fortnight  or  so  afterwards  she  sat  looking 
at  the  new  suit  of  clothes  and  some  jewels  which 
had  been  sent  to  her,  with  an  intimation  that 
the  bridal  procession  would  come  for  her  in  a 
week's  time. 

The  presents  were  poor  enough  in  themselves, 
but  then  Dhunni  had  never  seen  anything  so  bright 
before ;  except,  of  course,  the  red  flag.  And 
though  the  little  round  mirror  set  in  the  bridal 
thumb-ring  does  not  allow  of  much  being  seen 
at  a  time,  Dhunni  saw  enough  to  make  her  eyes 
still  more  velvety,  her  smile  still  more  bewitching. 

"  Favour  is  deceitful  and  beauty  is  vain,"  grum- 
bled her  grandfather  in  equivalent  Hindu,  but  it 
had  no  effect  on  the  girl.  All  that  day  she 
went  about  with  an  odd  half-dazed  look  on  her 
face,  and  when  the  women  who  had  brought  the 
presents  left  in  the  afternoon,  she  went  and  sat 
down  by  the  gate,  feeling  vaguely  that  it  was 
some  one  else  and  not  the  old  Dhunnu  who  was 
sitting  there.  The  mail  train  had  passed  an  hour 
before,  and  the  "goods"  was  not  due  till  mid- 
night,   so    there    was    no    chance    of    anything    to 


A   DANGER   SIGNAL  295 

interrupt  the  level  monotony  she  knew  so  well, 
and  yet,  as  she  sat  leaning  against  the  gate-post 
with  the  green  flag  beside  her,  she  was  waiting 
for  something  ;  for  what  she  did  not  know.  But 
the  certainty  that  life  held  something  new  was 
thrilling  to  her  very  finger  tips. 

It  was  a  yellow  sunset,  full  of  light  and  peace. 
Then  out  of  it  came  suddenly  a  faint  roll,  as  of 
distant  thunder.  She  was  on  her  feet  in  an  instant, 
listening,  waiting.  Ah!  this  was  new,  certainly. 
This  slie  had  never  seen  before.  An  engine  with 
a  single  carriage  coming  full  speed  out  of  the 
golden  west.  Was  she  to  give  "line  clear"  to 
this?  or 

The  sound  of  a  girl's  laugh  rang  out  into  the 
light,  and  a  scarlet  veil,  deftly  twisted  round  a 
baton,  hung  clear  into  the  line. 

"What  in  the  world's  the  matter?"  asked  an 
English  boy,  as  Craddock  and  the  Westinghouse 
brake  combined  brought  the  final  quiver  to  the 
great  shining  fly-wheel.  He  was  a  tall  boy,  fair- 
haired,  blue-eyed,  imperious.  The  girl  had  given 
a  little  gasp  at  the  look  on  his  face  as  he  had  leapt 
from  the  still  moving  train  to  come  towards  her, 
though  she  now  stood  looking  at  him  boldly,  the 
improvised  signal  still  in  her  hand. 

"What  is  it,  Craddock?  Ask  her.  You  under- 
stand their  lingo,  I  don't." 


296  A   DANGER   SIGNAL 

Cracldock,  leaning  over  the  side  of  the  cab,  sur- 
veyed the  picture  with  a  magisterial  air.  "  Sorry 
I  brought  'er  up,  sir,  tho'  seein'  a  red  rag  it's  kind 
o'  second  natur'  when  your  'and's  within  reach  o' 
a  brake,  sir.  And  then  she  never  done  it  before 
—  not  all  these  years." 

"  But  what  is  it  ?     I  don't  understand " 

"  Saving  your  presence,  sir,"  replied  Craddock 
cheerfully,  "there  ain't  no  reason  you  shouldn't, 
for  it  don't  take  any  knowledge  o'  the  lingo,  sir ; 
no  more  o'  any  kind  o'  knowledge  but  what  you're 
up  to,  sir,  being,  as  the  sayin'  is,  born  o'  Adam  — 
o'  Adam  an'  Eve.  It's  mischief,  sir,  that's  what 
it  is  —  mischief,  and  there  ain't  much  difference 
in  the  colour  o'  that,  so  far  as  I  see,  sir." 

The  boy's  face  showed  nothing  but  angry,  almost 
incredulous,  surprise  for  an  instant,  then  something 
else  crept  into  it,  softening  it.  ''  By  George  !  Crad- 
dock," he  said  argumentatively,  "  I'd  no  notion 
they  could  look  —  er  —  like  that.  She  is  really 
quite  a  pretty  girl."  He  could  not  help  a  smile 
somehow;  whereat,  to  his  sur^Drise,  she  smiled 
back  at  him,  the  deliberately  bewitching  smile 
born  of  that  chunk  of  chocolate.  It  recalled  him 
to  a  sense  of  injured  importance. 

"This  is  most  annoying,  and  when  so  much  de- 
pends on  my  catching  up  the  mail,"  he  continued. 
"  She  will  be  stopping  the  next  train  too,  I  suppose  ; 


A   DANGER    SIGNAL  297 

but  it  can't  be  allowed,  and  she  ought  to  be  pun- 
ished. I'll  take  her  along  and  leave  her  at  the 
first  station  for  inquiry,  they  can  easily  send 
another  signaller  by  the  down  train.  Tell  her, 
Craddock." 

"  Better  pukro  'er  'ath,'^  sir,"  remarked  the  latter 
sagely  as  he  prepared  to  descend,  ''else  she  might 
'oof  it  into  the  wilderness  like  one  of  them  ravine 
deer.  Just  you  pukro  'er  'ath^  sir,  while  I  samjhaS  ^ 
her." 

Dhunni,  however,  did  not  attempt  to  run,  she 
only  shrank  a  little  when  the  boy's  white  hand 
closed  on  hers.  After  that  she  stood  listening  to 
Craddock's  violent  recriminations  quite  calmly.  In 
truth  she  expected  them,  for  in  those  old  games 
of  brag  with  ndrma  they  had  gone  further  than 
words,  up  to  hanging  in  fact.  Yet  still  not  so 
far  as  this  queer  tremor  of  half -fearful,  half -joyful 
expectation.  That  was  new,  but  pleasant,  and 
filled  her  eyes  with  such  light  that  Craddock 
stroked  his  corn-coloured  beard  and  shook  his 
head  mournfully. 

"  She's  a  deal  'arder  than  I  took  'er  for,  seein' 
her  always  as  it  were,  sir,  from  a  different  sp'eer. 
A  deal  worse.  If  I'd  a  pair  o'  bracelets  ready 
they  might  give  'er  a  turn,  but  I've  told  'er  she'll 

1  Take  her  hand. 

2  Explain. 


298  A   DANGER    SIGNAL 

go  to  'ell  in  every  lingo  I  know,  for  fear  she 
mightn't  understand,  and  I'm  blest  if  she  care  a 
hang." 

The  boy  gave  a  resentful  laugh. 

"  I'll  make  her  care  before  I've  done  with  her. 
There  !  you  there  !  — what's  your  name  ?  —  stick  her 
with  you  into  the  cook  room.  No ;  shove  her 
into  my  carriage  and  I'll  do  chowkidar'^  till  I  can 
hand  her  over.  Now,  Craddock,  on  with  the 
steam  or  I  shall  miss  my  connection.  Confound 
the  girl  !  " 

It  was  easy  to  confound  her  in  the  abstract  ; 
easy  also  to  glower  at  the  offender  crouched  in 
the  off  corner  before  you  threw  yourself  into  the 
arm-chair  in  the  other  and  began  to  read  the  last 
number  of  a  magazine  by  the  waning  light.  But 
what  was  to  be  done  when  it  was  gradually  being 
borne  in  on  you  that  a  pair  of  velvety  eyes,  wild 
as  a  young  deer's,  were  Avatching  you  fearlessly. 
She  was  a  good  plucked  one,  at  any  rate.  Crad- 
dock had  said  she  was  as  hard  as  nails  and  a  bad 
lot.  Well,  he  ought  to  know ;  but  she  did  not 
look  bad,  not  at  all.  The  eyes  were  good  eyes, 
full  of  straightforward  curiosity,  nothing  more. 
There  she  was  bending  down  to  try  the  texture 
of  the  carpet  with  her  finger,  as  if  nothing  had 
occurred  —  the  little  monkey  —  and  what  white 
1  Watchman. 


A    DANGER    SIGNAL  299 

teeth   she  had  when  she  met  his  involuntary  smile 
with  another. 

After  that,  under  cover  of  his  book,  he  watched 
her  furtively.  It  was  what  is  called  an  inspection 
carriage,  a  regular  room  on  wheels,  and  the  boy, 
new  to  the  honour  and  glory  of  such  a  thing, 
liad  hung  pictures  on  its  walls,  curtains  to  its 
windows.  There  was  even  a  vase  of  flowers  be- 
side the  newly  lit  lamp  on  tlie  centre  table.  The 
lamp  had  a  pink  shade  too,  which  threw"  a  rosy 
light  on  everything,  above  all  on  tliat  slender 
figure  crouching  in  the  far  corner.  And  outside 
the  golden  sunset  was  fast  fading  into  cold  greys. 

''  You  want  to  know^  what  that  is,"  he  said  sud- 
denly, in  English,  laying  down  his  book  and 
pointing  in  the  direction  where  her  eyes  had  been 
fixed.  An  expectant  look  came  to  them,  and  he 
stood  for  a  moment  irresolute.  Then  he  rose  with 
an  impatient  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  crossed  to 
the  small  harmonium  which  lay  open,  set  his  foot 
to  the  pedal  and  struck  a  single  note.  She  drew 
back  from  the  sound  just,  he  thought,  as  she  had 
drawn  back  from  his  hand,  and  then  looked  at 
him  as  she  had  looked  at  him  then.  By  Jove  I 
she  had  eyes  I 

Still  looking  at  her  lie  sat  down  to  the  instru- 
ment and  played  a  chord  or  two  out  of  sheer  curi- 
osity.    Her  finger  went  up  to  her   lip,  she    leaned 


300  A    BANGER    SIGNAL 

forward,  a  picture  of  glad  surprise.  And  then  a 
sudden  fancy  seized  him.  He  had  a  tenor  voice, 
and  there  was  a  song  upon  the  desk.  Singing  in 
a  train,  ev^en  in  a  single  carriage  on  a  smooth  line, 
was    a   poor   performance,  but    it  would  be   fun  to 

try. 

"  The  Devout  Lover,"  of  all  songs  in  the  world ! 
The  humour,  the  bitter  irony  of  it  struck  him 
keenly  and  decided  him.  And  as  he  sang  he  felt 
with  a  certain  anger  that  he  had  never  sung  it 
better  —  might  never  sing  it  so  well  again. 

When  he  turned  to  her  again  it  struck  him  that 
she  recognised  this  also,  for  she  was  leaning  for- 
ward half  on  her  knees,  her  hands  stretched  out 
over  the  seat.  No  one  could  have  listened  more 
eagerly. 

In  sudden  petulance  he  rose  and  went  to  the 
window.  There  was  only  a  bar  of  gold  now  on 
the  horizon,  and,  thank  Heaven  !  they  had  come 
faster  than  he  thought  —  or  he  wasted  more  time 
in  tomfoolery  —  for  they  were  already  entering  the 
broken  ground.  That  must  be  the  first  ravine, 
dark  as  a  ditch ;  so  ere  long  he  Avould  be  able  to 
get  rid  of  those  curious  eyes.  Powers  above  I  Was 
fate  against  him  ?  Was  he  never  to  arrive  at  his 
destination  ?  And  what  did  Craddock  mean  by 
putting  the  brake  hard  on  again  when  they  were 
miles  away  even    from    a   level    crossing?     He  was 


A   DANGER    SIGNAL  301 

out  on  tlie  footboard  as  tliey  slackened,  shouting 
angry  inquiries  long  before  Craddock's  voice  could 
possibly  come  back  to  him  through  the  lessening 
rattle. 

"Danger  signal  comin'  down  the  line.  On  a 
trolly,  I  think,  sir.     Somethin's  wrong." 

Apparently  there  was,  and  yet  the  English  voice 
which  sang  out  of  the  darkness  had  a  joyful  ring 
of  triumph  in  it,  and  tlie  friendly  hand  which  fol- 
lowed the  voice,  after  a  minute  or  two,  sliook  the 
boy's  hand  amid  warm  congratulations  on  the 
narrowest  escape  ;  for  no  one  had  thought  it  could 
possibly  be  done,  or  that  warning  could  possibly  be 
given  in  time.  It  was  the  veriest  piece  of  luck  ! 
Briefly,  just  after  the  mail  had  passed,  a  big  cul- 
vert had  given  not  two  miles  further  down  the 
line.  They  had  telegraphed  the  information  both 
ways  of  course,  though,  as  no  train  was  due  for 
hours,  there  was  plenty  of  time  for  repairs.  Then 
had  come  the  return  wire,  telling  of  the  boy's  start 
to  overtake  the  mail  on  urgent  business.  Every 
one  had  said  it  was  too  late ;  and,  after  all,  it 
had  been  a  matter  of  five  minutes  or  less.  The 
veriest  luck  indeed  !  If  they  had  been  five  minutes 
earlier  .   .   . 

The  boy  looked  solemnly  at  Craddock,  and  the 
light  of  the  red  lamp,  dim  as  it  was,  showed  a  cer- 
tain emotion  in  both  faces. 


302  A    DANGER    SIGNAL 

"  That's  about  it,  sir,"  said  Craddock,  a  trifle 
huskily.  "  Au'  I  tellin'  her  she'd  go  to  *ell !  Lordy  ! 
ain't  it  like  a  woman  to  have  the  last  word?" 

He  said  no  more  then,  but  when  it  had  been 
decided  to  return  the  way  they  had  come,  and 
take  a  branch  line  farther  down,  and  when  the 
trolly  with  its  red  signal  had  slipped  back  silently 
into  the  night,  he  came  and  stood  at  the  carriage 
door  for  a  moment.  And  as  he  looked  at  the 
figure  crouching  contentedly  in  the  corner,  lie 
stroked  his  beard  thoughtfully  again,  and  went  on 
as  if  no  interval  had  come  between  his  last  words 
and  his  present  ones. 

"But  she  saved  our  lives,  sir,  by  stoppin'  us, 
that's  what  she  done,  sure  as  my  name's  Nathaniel 
James,  and  when  a  girl  done  that,  a  man's  got 
nothin'  left  but,  as  the  sayin'  is,  to  act  fair  an' 
square  by  her  —  fair  an'  square." 

"  Just  so,  Craddock,"  replied  the  boy,  with  a 
queer  stiffness  in  his  voice.  ••'  We'll  drop  her  at 
the  gate  again,  and  —  and  it  shall  be  just  —  just 
as  if  it  —  as  if  it  hadn't  happened."  Then  he 
added  in  a  lower  voice,  "  Spin  along  as  fast  as 
you  can,  man,  and  let's  have  done  with  it." 

"I  won't  leave  her  a  /iounce  for  a  whistle,  sir," 
said  Craddock  laconically. 

So  the  carriage  with  the  rosy  light  streaming 
through  the  windows  shot   forth  into  the  darkness 


A  DANGER  SIGNAL  303 

in  front,  and  the  sparks  from  the  engine  drifted 
into  the  darkness  behind,  and  the  roar  and  the 
rush  drowned  all  other  sonnds.  Perhaps  Craddock 
whistled  in  the  cab  to  make  up  for  not  being  able 
to  whistle  on  his  engine.  Perhaps  the  boy  sang 
songs  again  in  the  carriage  because  he  could  not 
speak  to  the  girl.  Anyhow,  they  were  both  silent 
when  the  fly-wheel  quivered  into  rest  once  more 
beside  level  crossing  Number  57. 

''Stop  a  bit,"  said  a  rather  unsteady  voice  as 
a  girl's  figure  paused  against  the  rosy  light  of  the 
open  door.  "It's  too  long  a  step.  I'll  lift  you 
down." 

Craddock,  looking  over  the  side,  turned  away 
and  gave  a  sympathising  little  cough  as  if  to  cover 
some  slighter  sound.  Perhaps  he  knew  what 
Avould  have  happened  if  he  had  been  in  the  boy's 
place. 

The  next  instant,  some  one  sprang  into  the  cab 
and  turned  the  steam  hard  on,  some  one  with  a 
half-pained,  half -glad  look  on  his  face. 

"  Now  then,  Craddock,  right  we  are  !  " 

And  Craddock,  as  he  bent  to  look  at  the  indi- 
cator, answered,  "  Right  it  is,  sir  ;  fair  and  square. 
Full  pressure  and  no  mischief  come  of  it." 

"I  hope  not,"  said  the  boy  softly;  "but  it  is 
a  bit  hard  to  know  —  to  know  what  is  fair  and 
square  —  with  —  with  some  people." 


304  A    DANGER    SIGNAL 

Perhaps  he  was  right  ;  for  Dhunni  stood  gazing 
after  the  red  and  green  lights  Avith  a  dazed  look 
on  her  face.  The  danger  signal  had  come  into  her 
life  —  the  train  had  stopped,  and  then  —  and ? 


AMOR   YINCIT   OMNIA 

This  story  began  and  ended  in  a  public  library. 
An  odd,  forlorn  little  offshoot  of  progress,  dibbled 
out  beyond  the  Avails  of  a  far-away  Indian  city, 
which  drowsed  through  the  sunny  to-day  as  it  had 
drowsed  through  many  a  century  of  sunny  yester- 
days. True  it  is  that  in  a  certain  mimetic  and 
superficial  manner  Pooranabad  had  changed  with 
the  changing  years.  It  had  evolved  a  municipal 
committee,  and  this  in  its  turn  had  given  birth 
to  various  simulacra  of  civilisation ;  but  in  effect 
the  former  was  but  the  old  council  of  elders  in 
modern  guise,  and  the  latter  but  Jonah's  gourd, 
springing  up  in  a  day  or  a  night  at  the  bidding  of 
some  minor  prophet  from  over  the  seas.  They 
came  and  went,  these  minor  prophets,  each  with 
his  theory,  his  hobby  ;  and  even  when  Pooranabad 
knew  them  no  more,  it  could  remember  its  rulers 
by  the  libraries  and  band-stands,  the  public  gardens, 
the  schools,  and  the  museums  they  had  left  behind 
them. 

The  library  itself  stood  in  the  midst  of  a  newly 
X  305 


306  AMOR   YINCIT   OMNIA 

laid-out  public  garden,  which  but  two  summers 
before  had  been  a  most  evil-smelling  tank  —  at 
least,  for  nine  months  of  the  year ;  the  remaining 
three  found  it  a  shining  lake  flushed  with  fresh 
rain  and  carpeted  with  pink  lotus  blossom.  But 
culture  of  all  sorts  had  stepped  in  with  drain- 
pipes, bricks,  mortar,  flowers,  and  books,  and  the 
result  was  a  maze  of  winding  Avalks,  stubbly  grass, 
and  stunted  bushes  gathered  round  a  square  stuc- 
coed building  of  one  room  encircled  b}^  an  arched 
verandah.  To  east  and  south  the  deceptive  walls 
and  flat  mud  roofs  of  the  native  city  looked  like 
towers  against  the  sky.  To  west  and  north  stood 
avenues  of  shishuin  trees,  with  here  and  there  a 
peep  of  the  white  bungalows  wherein  the  minor 
prophets  dwelt  and  grew  gourds. 

Within,  under  the  one  roof  hung  with  tw^o 
punkahs,  stood  two  tables,  the  one  littered  with 
English  magazines  and  illustrated  papers,  the  other 
bare,  save  for  a  few  leaflets  of  the  native  press, 
with  high-sounding  names  and  full  of  still  more 
lofty  sentiments.  The  two  bookcases,  one  at  each 
end  of  the  room,  showed  the  same  well-intentioned, 
but  unsuccessful,  impartiality;  for  the  eastern  one 
was  nearly  empty,  while  the  western  overflowed, 
chiefly  with  novels ;  a  dozen  shelves  of  them  to 
one  of  miscellaneous  literature,  made  up  for  the 
most  part  of  works  on  the  Central  Asian   question 


AMOR    VINCIT   OMNIA  307 

and  missionary  reports.  The  novels,  however,  had 
a  solid  appearance,  since  most  of  them  had  been 
re-bound  by  the  district-office  bookbinder  in  the 
legal  calf  and  boards  which  he  used  also  for  the 
circulars  and  acts  by  which  India  is  governed. 

Before  this  bookcase  stood  the  only  occupant  of 
the  room,  a  tall  w^eedy  boy  of  about  fifteen.  A 
boy  with  remarkably  thin  legs,  somewhat  of  a 
stoop  in  his  narrow  shoulders,  and  a  supple  brown 
finger  travelling  slowly  along  the  ill-spelt  titles 
of  the  book ;  ill  spelt,  because  the  Government 
bookbinder  could  hardly  be  expected  to  grapple 
successfull}^  with  the  title  of  a  modern  novel. 
The  hesitations  of  this  brown  finger  might  have 
served  as  an  index  to  the  owner's  taste,  and  showed 
a  distinct  leaning  towards  sentiment.  It  lingered 
over  several  suggestive  titles,  until  it  finally  set- 
tled on  something  writ  large  in  three  volumes. 
After  which  the  boy,  crossing  to  a  double  desk 
midway  between  the  tables,  wrote  in  the  English 
register  in  a  fine  bold  hand  any  clerk  might  have 
envied  : 

Amor   Vincit   Omnia.     Govind  Sahai,  Kyasth. 

So,  with  tAvo  volumes  under  his  arm,  and  one 
held  close  to  his  soft,  short-sighted  black  eyes, 
Govind  Sahai,  of  the  tribe  of  Kyasths,  or  scribes, 
made  his  way  citywards  down  one  of  the  winding 


308  AMOR   VINCIT   OMNIA 

paths.  Thus  strolling  along  he  was  typical  of  the 
great  multitude  of  Indian  boys  of  his  age.  Boys 
who  read  —  great  heavens  !  what  do  they  not  read, 
with  their  pale  intelligent  faces  close  to  the  let- 
tering ?  And  their  thoughts  ?  —  that  is  a  mystery. 
Govind  Sahai's  face  was  no  exception  to  the 
rule  ;  it  was  young,  yet  old  ;  high-featured,  yet 
gentle ;  the  ascetic  hollows  in  the  temples  belied 
by  the  long  sweeping  curves  in  the  mouth,  and 
both  these  features  neutralised  by  the  feminine 
oval  of  the  cheek.  He  was  the  only  son  of  a 
widow,  who,  thanks  to  his  existence,  led  a  busy 
and  contented  life  in  her  father-in-law's  otherwise 
childless  house  ;  for  the  honours  of  motherhood  in 
India  are  great.  Yet  she  was  poor  beyond  belief 
to  Western  ears.  Across  the  black  water,  in  a 
Christian  country,  such  poverty  would  have  meant 
misery,  but  in  the  old  simplicity  of  Pooranabad  the 
little  household  managed  to  be  happy  ;  above  all, 
in  its  hopes  for  the  future,  when  Govind's  edu- 
cation should  be  over,  and  he  be  free  to  follow 
his  hereditary  trade  as  a  writer.  His  father  had 
found  his  ancestral  level,  oddly  enough,  in  com- 
piling sanitary  statistics  in  an  English  office,  until 
the  cholera  added  one  to  the  mortality  returns  by 
carrying  him  off  as  a  victim;  after  which  all  the 
interest  of  life  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  little 
courtyard   and   slip    of    roof   which    Govind   called 


AMOR    VINCIT    OMNIA  309 

home  centred  in  the  clever  boy,  who  could  only 
follow  his  father's  trade  if  he  succeeded  in  gaining 
the  necessary  pass  ;  for  education  has  undermined 
heredity.  So  Govind  worked  hard  for  the  scholar- 
ship which  would  enable  him  to  go  to  college. 
Day  after  day  he  absorbed  an  amount  of  informa- 
tion which  was  perfectly  prodigious.  INIonth  after 
month  found  him  further  and  further  adrift  on  the 
sea  of  knoAvledge.  Even  in  play-time  he  gorged 
himself  on  new  ideas,  as  might  be  seen  by  the 
library  register.  It  was  not  only  Amo?'  Vincit 
Omnia  which  showed  on  its  pages,  but  many 
another  similar  work : 

Lost  for  Love,  Govind  Sahai,  Kyasth. 

Love  the  Master,  "  " 

My  Sweetheart,  "  " 

One  Life,    One  Love,  "  " 

And  so  on  down  one  column  and  up  another,  for 
the  boy  read  fast. 

On  this  particular  hot,  dusty  May  morning  he 
became  so  interested  in  his  last  book  that  he  sat 
down  on  the  parapet  of  the  city's  central  sewer, 
and  twining  one  thin  leg  round  the  other  plunged 
headlong  into  a  sentimental  scene  between  two 
lovers,  heedless  of  his  unsavoury  environments. 
The  interweaving  of  intellectual  emotion  and  ma- 
terial  sensation   pictured   on   the   page   seemed    to 


810  AMOR    VINCIT   OMNIA 

this  boy,  just  verging  upon  manhood,  to  be  an 
inspiration,  lifting  the  whole  subject  into  a  new 
world  of  pure  passion.  It  appealed,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  though  he  knew  it  not,  both  to  his  in- 
herited instincts  and  his  acquired  ideas,  thus  sat- 
isfying both. 

"  My  darling^^''  said  Victor^  raising  her  stveet  face 
to  his,  and  pressing  a  kiss  on  those  pure,  pale  lips, 
"  love  such  as  ours  is  eternal.  Earth  has  no  power  " 
—  et  cpetera,  et  ceetera,  et  cietera.  The  tears  posi- 
tively came  into  his  eyes;  he  seemed  to  feel  the 
touch  of  those  lips  on  his,  making  him  shiver. 

The  little  soft  tendrils  of  her  hair  stirred  ivith 
his  breath  as  Una,  shrinking  to  his  side,  ivhispered, 
*'  I  am  not  afraid  when  I  am  ivith  you,  my  king.  I 
feel  so  strong!  so  strong  to  maintain  the  Bight .^ 
Strong  to  maintain  our  Love  before  all  the  ivorld ! 
For  Love  is  of  Heaven,  is  it  not,  dear  heart?  "  "  Our 
Love  is,''  murmured  Victor,  once  more  raising  her 
pure,  pale Et  csetera,  et  csetera,  et  cietera. 

Yes,  it  was  very  beautiful,  very  exalting;  also 
very  disturbing  to  this  inheritor  of  a  nature  built 
on  simpler,  more  direct  lines.  That  ancestral  past 
of  his  seemed  brutally  bald  beside  this  highly  deco- 
rated castle  of  chivalry. 

''  Aha  !     Good   evening,  pupil  Govind,"  broke  in 


AMOR    VINCIT   OMNIA  311 

the  accurate  voice  of  Narayan  Chanel,  head  master 
of  the  district  school.  "You  have,  I  am  ghad  to 
see,  availed  j^ourself  of  advantages  of  public  library. 
With  what  mental  pabulum  have  you  provided  your- 
self this  summer's  eve  ?  " 

As  he  spoke,  he  seated  himself  likewise  on  the 
parapet  of  the  sewer,  and  read  over  the  boy's 
shoulder,  Aynor  Vincit  Omnia.  Then  his  spec- 
tacled glance  travelled  down  the  page,  returning 
for  comfort  to  the  title  ;  that,  at  least,  smacked 
of  learning.  "  Ah,  aha  I  I  see.  Light  literature. 
Good  for  colloquial,  and  of  paramount  use  in  vivas. 
So  far,  well.  For  superiority  of  diction,  neverthe- 
less, and  valuability  to  grammar  studies,  give  me 
Tatler^  Spectator,  and  such  classics." 

Govind  closed  his  book  in  most  unusual  irrita- 
tion. "  Even  in  English  literature,  master-y^,  new 
things  may  be  better  than  old." 

"  Of  that  there  is  no  possible  doubt,"  quoted  mas- 
tei-ji,  with  cheerful  gravity.  He  was  a  most  dili- 
gent reader  of  the  English  papers,  and  used  to  sit 
at  the  library  table  for  hours  of  an  evening  de- 
vouring the  critiques  on  Gilbert's  or  Tennyson's 
last  with  undiscriminating  absorption  in  the  forma- 
tion and  style  of  the  sentence.  His  quotations 
were  in  consequence  more  various  than  select.  "  Of 
that  there  can  be  no  possible  probable  manner  of 
doubt,  as   a   modern    poet   puts   it   tersely,"  he  re- 


312  AMOR   VINCIT   OMNIA 

peated,  tilting  his  embroidered  smoking-cap  farther 
from  his  forehead  and  drawing  the  black  alpaca 
tails  of  his  coat  round  his  legs ;  ''  yet  still,  for  all 
that,  it  is  held,  that  —  to  speak  colloquially  —  for 
taking  the  cake  of  scholarship  the  classics " 

Govind  Sahai  put  his  feet  to  the  ground  and  the 
first  volume  under  his  arm. 

"  Master-y^,  when  one  labours  long  days  at  cube 
roots,  then  classics  in  the  evening  become  excessive. 
Life  is  not  all  learning;    life  is  love  also." 

He  was  quoting  from  the  book  he  had  been 
reading. 

"  Sits  the  wind  in  that  quarter,"  began  Narayan 
sagely  ;  then  he  looked  at  the  boy  reflectively  and 
changed  manner  and  language.  "  That  brings  to 
memory,  my  son,"  he  said  in  Hindustani.  '^  When 
comes  thy  wedding  procession  ?  I  must  speak  to 
the  virtuous  widow  that  it  come  in  vacation  time, 
so  as  not  to  interfere  Avith  study." 

A  sullen  indifference  was  on  Govind's  face. 

"  You  need  not  fear,  master-yi ;  I  mean  to  have 
the  scholarship.  The  wedding  will  make  no  dif- 
ference." 

Narayan  Chand  smiled  a  superior  smile. 

"Nay,  my  son  ;  it  must  —  it  should — for  a  time. 
So  is  the  vacation  convenient.  Thou  canst  return 
to  school  when  the  festal  season  is  over.  Come, 
I  will  speak  to  thy  relations  even  now." 


AMOR    VINCIT    OMNIA  813 

The  widow  was  sifting  wheat.  A  pleasant-faced 
little  dump  of  a  woman,  with  dimples  on  her  bare 
brown  arms. 

"  Mother,"  said  Govind  calmly,  "  is  grandfather 
in?     The  iimster-ji  hath  come  about  my  wedding." 

"  What  have  men  to  say  to  such  things  ? "  she 
answered,  with  a  shrill  laugh  ;  "  go  tell  mastev-ji, 
heart  of  mine  eyes,  that  it  is  settled  for  the  first 
week  of  vacation.  Her  people  were  here  but  now. 
Hurri  hai  I  but  I  shall  laugh  and  cry  to  see  thee  ! 
There  shall  be  nothing  wanting  at  all  I  Flowers 
and  sweets  and  merriment.  Thy  granny  and  I 
have  toiled  and  spun  for  it.  And  the  bride 
sweeter  than  honey.  Fie  !  Govind,  be  not  shy 
with  thy  mother  !  Think  of  the  bride  she  gives 
thee,  and  tell  her  thou  art  happy." 

She  flung  her  arms  round  her  tall  son,  kissing  him 
and  plying  him  with  questions  till  he  smirked  sillily. 

"  Happy  enough,  mother, "  he  admitted,  then  felt 
Amor  Vincit  Omnia  under  his  arm,,  and  sighed. 
''  I  would  much  rather  not  be  married ;  at  least, 
I  think  not.  Oh,  mother,  I  would  she  had  fair 
hair  and  blue  eyes  !  " 

"  Lakshmi  !  hear  him  !  Wouldst  marry  a  fright, 
Govind  ?  Wait  the  auspicious  moment  ;  wait  till 
I  lift  the  veil.  Oh,  the  beauty  !  fresh  from  the 
court  of  Indra,  wheat-coloured  and  languishing 
with  jewels  and  love." 


314  AMOR    vmciT   OMNIA 

Govind  shook  his  head. 

"Profane  not  the  great  name  of  Love."  He 
quoted  to  himself,  being  forced  to  this  secrecy  by 
the  fact  that  the  only  language  his  mother  under- 
stood has  no  word  for  love  —  as  he  meant  it.  So 
he  added  mournfully,  "  I  am  ready  for  my  duty 
whenever  you  wish  it,  mother  ;  that  is  enough." 

Nevertheless,  he  dreamt  dreams  that  night  as  he 
lay  curled  up  on  his  short  string  bed,  with  the 
second  volume  of  Avio?-  Vincit  Omnia  under  the 
quilt,  so  as  to  be  ready  for  the  early  summer  dawn. 
Out  under  the  stars  in  the  bare,  mud-walled  court- 
yard, destitute  to  Western  eyes  of  all  comfort,  he 
dreamt  the  dreams  of  his  race  —  of  a  gorgeously 
attired  bride,  shy,  yet  alluring,  looking  at  him  for 
the  first  time. 

''  Thou  hast  a  nightmare,"  said  his  mother  crossly, 
wlien  just  before  daybreak  he  woke  them  all  by 
sitting  up  in  his  bed  and  declaiming,  Amor  vincit 
omnia  in  a  loud  voice.  "  'Tis  that  book  under  thy 
head.  Put  it  aside,  and  lie  as  thy  forefathers  lay; 
they  dreamt  not  of  pillows.  So  shalt  thou  sleep 
sound  and  let  others  sleep  also." 

She  went  yawning  back  to  bed,  and  lay  awake 
till  dawn  brought  work,  counting  over  the  savings 
she  had  made,  and  calculating  how  much  she  could 
spare  for  flowers  and  sweets  and  spiced  dishes,  for 
all  the  hitherto  unknown  luxuries  Avhich,  according 


AMOR    VINCIT    OMNIA  315 

to  custom,  were  to  make  the  boy's  life  a  dream  of 
pleasure  for  a  time.  Only  for  a  time,  since  tlie 
scholarship  had  to  be  gained. 

A  month  afterwards  a  red-curtained  bridal  pal- 
anquin containing  a  mysterious  bride  was  carried 
over  the  threshold  of  the  little  mud  courtyard, 
and  Govind  Sahai,  with  a  silver  triptych  on  his 
forehead,  his  ears  tasselled  with  evil-smelling  mari- 
golds, his  scented  tinsel  coat  hung  with  jasmine 
chaplets,  dismounted  from  a  pink-nosed  pony 
amidst  an  admiring  crowd.  That  was  an  end  of 
the  spectacle  as  far  as  the  outside  world  was  con- 
cerned. Within  it  was  only  beginning  for  those 
two  fond  women  who  had  spun  and  scraped  and 
saved  for  this  great  occasion  ever  since  the  bride- 
groom was  five  years  old.  Much  had  to  be  done 
ere  they  would  sit  down  in  proud  peace  knowing 
that  no  possible  enhancement  of  delight  had  been 
omitted.  The  boy  himself  went  througli  the  count- 
less ceremonies,  all  tending  towards  an  apotheosis  of 
the  senses,  with  a  certain  shy  dignity  ;  perhaps  the 
sight  of  master-y^  doing  wedding  guest  in  a  copper- 
coloured  alpaca  coat  gave  him  confidence  by  re- 
minding him  that  even  the  learned  stoop  to  folly. 
He  was  pale,  partly  from  the  turmeric  baths,  which 
are  supposed  to  produce  a  complexion  favourable 
to  feminine  eyes,  partly  because  he  really  felt  sick 
after  the  unusual  sloth  and  sweets  of  the  last  few 


316  AMOR    VINCIT    OMNIA 

days.  So  much  for  his  physical  state.  Of  his  mental 
condition  this  much  may  be  presaged  :  that  if  either 
his  inherited  instincts  or  his  acquired  convictions  had 
any  reality  whatever,  it  must  have  been  chaos. 

More  chaotic  than  ever  when,  far  into  the  night, 
after  endless  tests  and  trials,  Nihali,  the  mysterious 
bride,  proved  beautiful  as as ? 

Well,  the  fact  was  sure  ;  only  the  comparison 
remained  doubtful.  The  inherited  instincts  said  a 
peri,  the  acquired  convictions  an  angel.  Both,  it 
will  be  observed,  denizens  of   another  world.     But 

then  there  are  more  ''  other  worlds "  than  one. 

****** 

"  Master  Naraj^an  Chand  hath  sent  to  remind  us 
that  school  re-opens  next  week,"  said  Govind's 
mother  when  nigh  two  months  had  passed ;  two 
months  during  which  the  path  of  life  had  been 
smoothed,  scented,  and  decorated  for  the  special 
use  of  a  l)oy  and  a  girl.  Govind  Sahai  looked  up 
from  his  Avork,  which  was,  briefly,  holding  Nihali's 
slim,  ring-bedecked  fingers.  The  fact  that  he  did 
so  on  pretence  of  teaching  her  to  write  is  of  sec- 
ondary importance.  She  was  undoubtedly  a  very 
pretty  girl,  and  her  delicate,  refined  face  was  at 
that  moment  full  of  adoring  tenderness  for  the 
lad  beside  her.  Not  thirteen  at  the  most,  she  was 
taller  than  English  girls  of  that  age,  but  far  more 
slender,  with  a  figure   still   following  the  straight 


AMOR    VINCIT    OMNIA  317 

lines  of  cliildliood.  Graceful  for  all  that,  since 
her  small  head  poised  well  over  a  round  throat, 
and  the  want  of  contour  was  dexterously  hidden 
by  masses  of  jewellery,  gleaming  through  the 
tinsel-shot  veil.  Even  from  Avrist  to  elbow  the 
thinness  of  the  arm  was  concealed  by  the  bridal 
bracelets  of  white  ivory  lined  with  red,  whilst  the 
slender  ankles  beneath  the  scarlet,  gold-bordered 
petticoat  were   hung  with  silver-gilt  jingles. 

A  typical  bride  briefly,  arrayed  in  all  attrac- 
tions, save  for  the  big  nose-ring,  with  its  dangling 
golden  spoon  hiding  the  lip.  Govind  objected  to 
its  presence,  his  mother  to  its  absence  —  both,  curi- 
ously enough,  for  the  same  reason  — because  it 
served  as  a  check  to  indiscriminate  kissing-  of 
the  bride.  The  pious  widow  used  to  blush  over 
her  son's  habit  of  saying  good-bye  to  his  wife 
when  he  had  to  leave  her  for  an  hour  or 
two.  It  might  be  English  fashion,  warranted  by 
all  the  love-literature  in  creation ;  it  was  not 
decent.  Neither  did  she  approve  of  seeing  them, 
as  now,  seated  together  over  that  ridiculous  farce 
of  pothooks.  Marriage  was  one  thing,  love-making 
was  another,  so  she  spoke  sharply. 

"Well,"  answered  the  boy,  utterly  unabashed, 
"  dost  think  I  have  forgotten,  amma  ja7i?  (Mother 
dear.)  Nay  !  Nihali  hath  been  hearing  my  holi- 
day task  half  the  morning.     Hast  not—  O  Nihali?  " 


318  AMOR    VINCIT   OMNIA 

His  arm,  under  cover  of  the  veil,  stole  round  the 
girl's  waist  and  remained  there; — a  flagrant  breach 
of  decorum  which,  fortunately  for  the  female  ac- 
complice, remained  unnoticed  by  mother-in-law,  who 
was  busy  over  a  knot  in  a  thread  she  was  skeining 
from  her  unending  pirn.  Yet  Nihali,  despite  this 
aAvful  lapse,  looked  sweet  and  good  enough  to  fill 
the  heroine's  part  in  any  novel,  and  her  looks  did 
not  belie  her.  The  past  two  months  had  been  a 
fever  of  delight  to  Govind.  With  the  curious 
apathetic  resignation  to  the  limitations  of  custom 
so  noticeable  in  clever  Indian  lads  whose  brains 
are  full  of  theories,  he  had  accepted  marriage  in 
the  spirit  of  his  forebears,  only  to  find  that  Love 
(with  a  big  L)  such  as  he  had  read  of  in  books 
was  actually  within  his  reach.  To  be  sure,  in 
books  the  object  was  chosen  by  the  lover ;  but 
what  did  that  matter  in  the  end?  So  he  used  up 
all  the  stock-in-trade  of  the  sentimental  novelist 
for  little  Nihali's  benefit,  and  she  listened  to  his 
rhapsodies  on  perfect  marriage  and  twin  souls,  her 
eyes  set  wide  with  wonder,  admiration,  and  belief. 
No  "first  lady"  in  white  satin  could  have  played 
her  part  more  prettily  than  this  Indian  child  of 
thirteen,  who  from  her  cradle  had  been  taught 
to  venerate  her  husband  as  a  god,  and  who  now, 
in  a  sort  of  rapture,  found  herself  the  object  of  a 
sentimental  passion  absolutely  novel  and  bewilder- 


AMOR    YINCIT    OMNIA  319 

ing.  She  nestled  her  sleek  head  on  his  shoulder, 
telling  him  that  she  believed  every  word  he  said. 
And  so  she  did ;  had  he  told  her  the  world  was 
flat,  instead  of  explaining  to  her  with  great  pomp 
and  precision  that  she  was  living  on  an  orange  de- 
pressed at  the  poles,  it  would  have  been  the  same 
to  her.  The  world  she  lived  in  was  of  his  creating. 
Like  most  Hindu  girls  of  the  higher  classes,  she 
had  a  marvellous  memory,  and  Govind  had  hardly 
known  whether  to  be  pleased  or  pained  at  the  dis- 
covery that,  after  hearing  him  read  it  over  a  few 
times,  she  knew  his  repetition  better  than  he  did 
himself ;  yet,  shy  of  her  own  exploit,  she  only 
replied  to  his  laughing  reference  to  the  holiday 
task  by  a  timid  squeeze  of  the  hand  still  holding 
hers. 

Mother-in-law  broke  the  knot  with  a  snap ;  a 
habit  with  the  determined  little  woman,  who  there- 
inafter would  twirl  the  ends  together  as  if  nothing 
had  happened.  One  twist  of  the  thumb,  and  all 
was  as  it  had  been. 

"  I  know  not  what  holiday  tasks  may  mean," 
she  said  scornfully.  "  In  my  time  work  was  work, 
and  play  play.  So  must  it  be  now.  Nihali's  people 
have  sent  to  ask  when  she  returns  to  them,  after 
established  custom.  I  have  answered,  'When  school 
begins.' " 

They  had  been  so  supremely,  so  innocently  happy 


320  AMOR    VINCIT    OMNIA 

over  their  pothooks  !  And  now  the  consternation  on 
their  two  young  faces  was  quite  piteous.  Mother- 
in-law,  however,  found  it  scandalous.  Did  not  all 
decent  girls  cry  to  go  home  long  before  the  honey- 
moon was  over?  Had  not  she  herself  wept  bit- 
terly in  her  time ;  and  there  was  Nihali  actually 
snivelling  at  the  idea  of  leaving ;  before  her  hus- 
band, too !     And  Govind  was  no  better. 

"  It  is  so  soon,"  pleaded  the  boy,  too  much 
taken  aback  for  instant  revolt ;  besides,  the  sit- 
uation had  never  come  into  any  of  the  novels  he 
had  read,  so  he  really  felt  unable  to  cope  with  it. 

His  remark  only  increased  the  pitch  of  his 
mother's  voice.  Soon,  was  it?  Had  he  not  had 
two  months  of  billing  and  cooing,  to  gain  which 
she  and  grannie  had  spun  their  fingers  to  the  bone  ? 
Soon  !  Whose  fault  was  it  if  time  had  been  Avasted 
over  alphabets  and  pothooks  ?  Her  shrill  tones 
brought  grannie  from  her  labours  below,  and  be- 
fore these  two  eminently  respectable  matrons  the 
guilty  pair  could  only  hold  each  other's  hands  like 
the  babes  in  the  wood,  feeling  lost  and  miserable. 

That  afternoon  he  went  over  to  the  public  library, 
for  the  first  time  since  his  marriage,  and  spent  hours 
hunting  up  precedents  on  the  subject,  only  to  re- 
turn discomfited  and  hopeless.  Nihali  would  revolt, 
of  course,  if  he  bade  her  follow  his  lead ;  but  how 
could  he  bear  to  have  the  finger   of    scorn  puinled 


AMOR  viNCiT  o:mnia  321 

at  her  by  those  unacquainted  with  the  theory  of 
perfect  marriage  and  twin  souls?  That  night, 
when  the  rest  of  the  little  household  retired  from 
the  roof,  leaving  the  luxury  of  fresh  air  to  the 
younger  people,  he  and  Nihali  sat  down  under  the 
stars  on  the  still  flower-strewn  bed,  and  cried  like 
the  children  they  were. 

So  with  awful  swiftness  the  dawn  came  when 
Govind  had  to  put  on  the  pale-pink  turban  pro- 
claiming him  a  first-class  middle  student,  and  set 
off  to  school  with  his  books  under  his  arm  ;  books, 
on  the  whole,  less  disturbing  than  Amor  Vincit 
Omnia  and  its  congeners.  Nothing  fui-ther  had 
been  said  about  Nihali's  approaching  departure. 
It  was  inevitable,  of  course  ;  meanwhile,  they  must 
make  the  most  of  the  time  left  to  them.  So  Govind 
looked  haggard  and  feverish  as  he  took  his  accus- 
tomed place  ;  nevertheless,  being  student  by  nature, 
the  work  beguiled  him.  By  evening  he  was  light- 
hearted  enough  to  run  home  and  race  up  the 
crumbling  stairs  leading  to  the  roof,  full  of  anec- 
dotes and  news  for  Nihrdi.  There  was  no  one  to 
receive  them.  The  roof  itself  had  resumed  its 
normal  workaday  appearance,  and  in  the  very  place 
where  the  little  bride  had  sat  on  her  lacquered 
bridal  stool,  squatted  his  mother,  piecing  two  broken 
strands  of  her  skein  together  as  if  nothing  had 
happened.     x\nd  notliing  out   of    the    common    had 


322  AMOR    VINCIT    OMNIA 

happened.  Whose  fault  Avas  it  if  Govind  flung 
himself  on  his  face  and  wept  like  a  babj  for  what 
was  beyond  his  reach  ? 

His  mother  had  expected  so  much  when  she 
planned  her  eoui)  d'etat.  But  he  continued  to  cry 
—  Avhich  she  did  not  expect ;  for  something  more 
complex  than  simple  passion  had  been  aroused  in 
the  boy.  Of  that  he  might  have  been  ashamed  ; 
in  this  he  gloried.  Was  it  not,  in  short,  a  legiti- 
mate subject  for  self-glorification  ?  So  he  wept 
himself  sick  in  a  subdued  docile  sort  of  Avay. 
Finally,  master-y^  called  one  day  in  consternation 
to  say  that,  though  painstaking  as  ever,  poor  Govind 
could  not  remember  the  simplest  problem  ;  while 
as  for  riders,  he  just  sat  and  looked  at  them.  The 
scholarship  was  thus  in  danger.  She  tried  scolding 
the  boy  in  good  set  terms,  but  he  met  her  reproaches 
with  an  invulnerable  superiority  before  which  she 
stood  aghast.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  Perhaps 
this  spiriting  away  of  the  bride  in  order  to  avoid 
a  scene  had  been  an  error,  but  was  that  any  reason 
why  she  should  be  requested  to  return  ?  To  begin 
with,  it  would  be  an  appalling  breach  of  etiquette, 
and  then  there  was  the  risk  of  consequences  much 
to  be  deprecated  between  such  very  young  people. 
The  whole  household,  including  master-y^,  puzzled 
over  the  difficulty,  winch  seemed  all  the  more  puz- 
zling because  it  was  so   uncalled    for,  boys   having 


AMOR    YINCIT   OMNIA  323 

been  married  at  fifteen  and  sent  to  school  again 
afterwards  since  time  began  without  an}^  fuss. 
But  then,  those  boys  had  not  read  A7nor  Vincit 
Oimiia  and  learnt  to  mix  sentiment  with  passion. 

While  matters  were  at  this  deadlock,  Nihali's 
mother  arrived  on  the  scene  unexpectedly,  and, 
en  petit  comite  with  the  women-folk,  gave  a  new 
turn  to  affairs.  The  possibility  suggested  was  in 
a  measure  disconcerting,  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
afforded  Govind's  mother  an  opportunity  of  re- 
treating with  dignity,  since  the  girl  must  not  be 
allowed  to  fret  as  she  had  been  fretting. 

The  result  being  that  a  week  afterwards  Govind 
Sahai  did  a  difficult  rider  in  a  Avay  which  made 
Narayan  Chand  dream  dreams  of  a  future  when 
folk  would  say,  "  This  eminent  man  received  pri- 
mary and  secondary  education  at  the  hands  of  our 
most  successful  teacher  of  youth.  Pundit  Narayan 
Chand."  It  was  a  dream  he  frequently  indulged 
in  about  his  pupils. 

The  little  strip  of  roof  was  once  more  frequented 
by  pigeons,  and  the  snappings  and  joinings  of 
threads  relegated  for  the  most  part  to  the  court 
below.  Yet  the  boy's  appetite  did  not  return, 
and  as  winter  came  on  he  developed  a  teasing 
cough  in  that  narrow  chest  of  his.  The  fact  was 
that  he  burnt  the  candle  of  life  at  both  ends  in 
more  ways   than    one.     Perhaps    if   his    soul    could 


324  AMOR    VINCIT    OMNIA 

have    been    left    in    peace    he    might    have    passed 
through  the  ordeal  safely,  as  many  a  boy  manages 
to    do    in    India.     But    it   was   not.     Poor    Govind 
had  no  rest.     He  strung  himself  up  to  the  highest 
pitch  in  obedience  to  the  mixed  result  of  his  birth 
and   education.       Then    on    this    quivering    instru- 
ment he  proceeded  to  play  scales.     It  was  Tausig's 
exercises   on   a   zither.     He    had    to    teach   himself, 
teach   Nihali,   think   of   the    coming   baby,   and    go 
through  the  whole  gamut  of  intellectual  and  physi- 
cal emotion  of  which  he  had  read.     The  first  string 
gave  way  when  his   mother,  laughing,  crying,  and 
blessing  him  all  in  a  breath,  put  a  boy  bal)y  into 
his  arms  on  his  return   from  school   one   day.      He 
sat  down  stupidly  on  the  lowest  step   of  the   mud 
stairs,  gazing  at  what  he  held  in  a  sort  of  bewil- 
dered amaze  at  finding  himself  thus,  till  his  mother 
angrily   snatched    the    child    from   him,    saying    he 
should   be   ashamed   of   shedding   tears    on   a  new- 
born   baby's    face.       It   was    very   like    Nihrdi,    he 
thought,  only  years  older  with  all  those  wrinkles. 
Then  he  thought  helplessly  how  he   had    decided, 
with    Nihali's    consent    of    course,    on    a    thousand 
contraventions   of    old  customs  at   this   time.     Yet 
there  was  she    upstairs  in  the   hands   of   the  wise 
women,  and  the  baby  ready  to  be  doctored  by  its 
grandmother.       What   could   a   boy   of   sixteen    do 
against    such    odds?      So    the    little    proselytising 


AMOR    VJNCIT    OMNIA  325 

pamphlet  he  had  read  was  put  away  with  a  sigh  ; 
and  after  all  Nihfdi  did  very  well  under  the  old 
regime.  He  found  her,  when  the  wise  w^omen  per- 
mitted him,  in  the  seventh  heaven  over  the  baby. 
Was  there  ever  such  a  doll,  with  its  little  sharp 
nose  and  pinched-up  lips  !  And  would  he  believe 
it?— the  tiny  creature  was  so  lazy  that  grand- 
mother had  to  tickle  it  so  —  on  the  mouth  —  before 
it  would  take  any  interest  in  the  sugar  and  spices  I 
By  and  by,  when  she  could  nurse  it  herself,  it 
would  be  different.  She  lay  smiling  at  the  idea, 
while  downstairs,  as  they  left  the  house,  the  gos- 
sips were  shaking  their  heads  and  saying  calml}^ 
"It  is  an  unnecessary  baby,  but  a  forerunner. 
Others  will  come.     There  is  plenty  of  time." 

Even  when  Nihali  could  not  nurse  the  child, 
and  they  had  recourse  to  a  Maw's  feeder,  which 
Govind,  with  many  blushes,  bought  at  the  same 
shop  which  supplied  him  with  slate  pencils,  those 
two  young  things  feared  nothing.  He  used  to 
bring  his  books  to  the  roof  where  she  lay  with  the 
little  quiet  mouse  of  a  thing  tucked  away  in  her 
veil.  Then,  while  the  sun  set  red  over  the  dusty 
city,  he  worked  away  at  all  the  "  ologies  "  —  worked 
somewhat  feverishly,  since  more  depended  now  on 
his  success.  Sometimes  Nihali's  smile  gurgled  over 
in  laughter,  and  Govind,  looking  up,  would  find 
baby's  fingers  being  clasped  round  his  pen. 


326  AMOR    VINCIT    OMNIA 

''  Look  you,"  she  would  whisper,  as  if  in  presence 
of  some  great  potentate,  "  I  asked  my  lord  if  he 
wished  to  be  a  writer  too,  and  see  how  fast  he 
holds  !  " 

There  was  one  thing,  however,  to  which  the 
baby  did  not  hold  fast,  and  that  was  life.  But 
not  till  the  very  day  before  the  eventful  examina- 
tion, which  meant  so  much  to  Govind,  did  those 
two  children  read  fear  in  each  other's  faces  about 
that  other  child. 

"  Oh,  Govind !  what  shall  we  do  ?  what  shall 
we  do?  "  wailed  Nihfdi,  when  the  grandmother,  see- 
ing them  wild  with  anxiety,  told  them  the  truth, 
while  the  great-grandmother  stood  by  wagging  her 
head  and  mumbling  of  others  by  and  by.  What 
was  that  to  them  now?  How  he  got  through  the 
next  day  he  never  knew.  He  took  the  papers  and 
went  with  them  to  his  desk ;  nay,  more,  he  did  his 
level  best  with  them,  nerving  himself  to  the  effort 
chiefly  by  thoughts  of  master-y^s  disappointment  if 
he  failed.  But  his  personal  interest  in  the  matter 
seemed  gone ;  that  was  centred  on  a  roof  in  the 
dusty  city  where  one  child  sat  crying  over  another. 
What  were  plus  or  minus  to  him  save  a  world  with 
or  without  an  unnecessary  infant  ? 

All  that  night  was  passed  beside  Nihilli,  waiting 
for  his  mother's  voice  to  say  the  end  had  come  ; 
but  the  morning   found   the   little    sleeper    still    in 


AMOR    VINCIT    OMXIA  327 

the  young  mother's  arms.  Perhaps  there  was  still 
hope.  He  hastily  swallowed  some  breakfast,  and, 
delayed  by  this  hint  of  respite,  found  himself 
five  minutes  late  in  the  examination-room.  The 
first  pa^Ders  had  already  been  given  out,  and  to 
avoid  possibility  of  fraud  none  save  those  pres- 
ent at  the  issue  were  allowed  to  compete.  So 
Govind  had  to  sit  idle  for  a  while,  knowing  he 
had  lost  a  definite  number  of  chances.  Nor  was 
this  the  worst ;  the  pause  gave  him  time  for 
thought.  Hitherto,  once  within  the  familiar  walls, 
old  habits  of  attention  and  forgetfulness  had  pos- 
sessed him.  Now,  with  nothing  to  do,  he  remem- 
bered and  yet  forgot.  So  when  the  order  to  go 
up  for  the  second  paper  came  he  rose  with  his 
brain  in  a  whirl,  a  wdld  desire  to  cry,  ''Let  me 
alone,  my  baby  is  dying ! "  seeming  to  blot  out 
everything  else  in  the  world.  Perhaps  had  he 
done  so  he  might  have  had  a  chance  in  the  ex- 
aminers' human  pity ;  as  it  Avas  he  pulled  himself 
together,  and  failed  hopelessly. 

In  the  pause  before  the  viva  voce  he  sat  looking 
straight  before  him,  dully  conscious  that  he  had 
done  badly. 

"  Govind  has  never  been  the  same  since  he  mar- 
ried," whispered  one  boy,  and  the  other  giggled. 

"  Silence  !  "  cried  Narayan  Chand  fussily. 
"  Govind    Sahai,    your    name    is    first    for    vivd. 


328  AMOR   VINCIT   OMNIA 

Come  up,  Govind  Sahai,  Kyasth."  Then,  as  the 
dull  yet  anxious  face  passed  him,  he  whispered : 
"  Now  for  value  of  light  literature.  You  are  best 
at  colloquial,  my  pupil,  so  courage,  and  remember 
Afnor  Vincit   Omnia  and  such  like  things." 

Amor  Vincit  Omnia !  The  boy's  last  chance 
fled  before  those  words.  When  the  ordeal  was 
over,  he  turned  back  to  his  place  mechanically. 
As  he  passed  the  master-y^*  once  more,  he  read  his 
fate  in  the  disappointed  face  raised  to  his,  then 
in  tlie  confident  smile  of  the  boy  succeeding  him, 
finally  in  the  surprised  nudging  of  the  whole  class. 
Something  seemed  to  snap  in  his  brain ;  he  paused, 
and,  facing  the  examiners,  raised  his  hand.  The 
rush  of  thought  was  too  much  for  him  at  first ;  then 
he  broke  silence  in  a  gentle,  deprecating  voice  : 

"  If  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  excuse  me, 
Sirs,  I  will  beg  leave  to  retire.  Tlie  exigencies  of 
the  case  forbid  explanation,  but  this  much  is  ad- 
mitted—  that  Amor  vincit  omniay 

"  That  boy  speaks  better  English  than  I  thought 
for,"  said  one  examiner  to  the  other,  when  the 
leave  had  been  granted.  "  Give  him  five  marks 
more  ;  he's  failed,  of  course,  but  it's  as  well  to 
be  just." 

When  Govind  reached  home  Nihali's  arms  were 
empty.  There  is  no  need  to  say  more.  It  Avas 
an  unnecessary  infant  to  all  save  those  two. 


AMOR   VINCIT   OMNIA  329 

"You  have  failed,  failed  badly,  my  poor  pupil, 
owing,  doubtless,  to  domestic  bereavement,"  said 
the  master-y/,  when  he  called  a  week  or  two  later 
full  of  vexed  sympathy.  "  Such  circumstances 
point  to  special  privilege  of  entering  again  next 
year,  for  which  we  will  apply.  And  then,  Govind, 
there  must  be  no  killing  of  birds  with  one  stone. 
There  must  be  no  complicated  states  of  mind, 
confusing  idiom." 

But  Govind  Sahai,  Kyasth,  did  not  avail  him- 
self of  the  permission  duly  given,  as  the  pundit-yi 
put  it,  "in  consideration  of  the  strictly  non- 
regulation  death  of  his  infant  at  a  premature 
age." 

The  old  grandfather,  whose  small  life-pension 
had  been  the  prop  of  the  household,  died  of  au- 
tumnal fever,  and  during  the  ensuing  winter  the 
result  of  his  failure  to  win  the  scholarship  came 
home  to  Govind  with  depressing  force,  since  even 
from  that  poor  ten  rupees  a  month  something 
might  have  been  spared  to  stand  between  those 
three  fond  women  and  the  grindstone,  that  last 
resort  of  poverty.  Then  Nihali's  mother,  coming 
over  unexpectedly  and  finding  her  daughter  at  the 
mill,  carried  her  off  in  a  huff.  This  time  Govind 
said  nothing;  the  spirit  had  gone  out  of  him,  and 
for  the  girl's  own  sake  he  gave  in  to  custom. 
He  worked  very  hard,  but  as  the  winter  advanced 


330  AMOR    VINCIT    OMNIA 

liis  shoulders  seemed  to  grow  narrower  and  nar- 
rower, and  the  teashig  cough  became  louder. 
Good  food,  care,  and  rest  might  have  done  some- 
thing perhaps ;  only  perhaps,  for  there  is  not 
much  to  be  done  when  the  candle  of  life  is  alight 
at  both  ends,  except  to  put  it  out.  That  is  Avhat 
happened  one  April  morning  when  the  bougain- 
villea  round  the  arched  verandah  of  the  library 
looked  like  a  crimson  drapery.  He  used  to  go 
there  every  morning  before  school  hours,  for  the 
memory  of  his  failure  in  viva  voce  rankled  keenly, 
and  he  was  possessed  by  a  curious  determination 
to  prove  Master  Narayan  Chand  wrong  in  attrib- 
uting it  to  Govind's  unwise  selection  of  books. 
So,  secure  at  those  hours  from  interruption,  he 
used  to  sit  and  study  the  idiom  of  light  literature. 

"  Thou  art  not  fit  to  go,"  said  his  mother  tear- 
fully one  morning  after  the  boy  had  been  kept 
awake  all  night  by  cough  and  fever. 

*'  Reading  will  not  hurt  me,  amma  jan^""  he  re- 
plied, "and  the  examination  is  next  month." 

They  found  him  two  hours  afterwards  seated 
at  tlie  desk  before  the  ledger,  his  head  resting 
on  a  novel  he  had  just  been  entering  in  the  regis- 
ter. A  horrible  stain  of  blood  from  the  blood- 
vessel he  had  ruptured  blotted  the  page,  but  through 
it  you  could  still  see,  in  his  bold  handwriting  : 
Amor   Vinclt  Omnia.     Govind  Sahai,  Kyasth. 


THE   WINGS   OF   A  DOVE 


A  TALL  lanky  boy  of  about  seventeen  sat  half- 
way down  the  great  flight  of  steps  at  the  eastern 
entrance  of  the  Jumma  Mosque  at  Delhi,  looking 
anxiously  at  a  cage  full  of  avitovats,  twinkling  lit- 
tle brown  birds  with  a  suspicion  of  red  amid  their 
brown ;  flitting,  slender,  silent  little  birds,  never 
still  for  a  second.  He  looked  at  them  half-satis- 
fied, half-doubtful,  and  as  he  looked  he  turned  a 
four-anna  bit  over  and  over  in  his  brown  fingers. 
For  though  he  was  dressed  as  a  European  his 
complexion  was  as  dark  as  that  of  most  high-caste 
natives,  and  darker  by  a  good  bit  than  that  of  a 
girl  some  one  or  two  years  his  junior,  who  sat 
fondling  a  pigeon  on  a  higher  step,  and  looking 
askance,  also,  at  the  avitovats. 

"  The  Huzoor   can   have    them    for   five  annas  if 

he  chooses,"  said  the  evil-looking  bird-catcher  who 

was  squatting  among  his  wares.     Though  he  used 

the   honorific   title,  his    manner  was    absolutely  de- 

1  Copyright,  1896,  by  Macmillan  &  Co. 

331 


332  THE   WINGS    OF    A    DOVE 

void  of  courtesy,  and  he  turned  without  the  least 
change  in  it  to  address  a  friend  in  the  parrot  line, 
who  sat  with  his  cages  on  the  step  above.  For 
this  particular  flight  of  steps  is  set  apart  to  the 
selling  of  birds,  especially  after  prayer- time  on  Fri- 
days, Avhen  the  pigeon-racers  and  quail-fighters  buy 
and  bet  in  the  wide  portico  of  rosy  stone  and  pale 
marble.  The  avitovats  —  having  no  value  to  the 
sportsman  —  commanded  but  a  slack  sale,  so  the 
boy  had  plenty  of  time  in  which  to  make  up  his 
mind ;  to  judge  by  appearances  a  difficult  task, 
for  his  face  was  undeniably  weak,  though  hand- 
some, kindly,  and  soft.  He  wore  a  white  drill 
suit,  clean,  but  sadly  frayed  ;  and  his  grey  Avide- 
awake  was  many  sizes  too  large  for  his  small  head. 
Perhaps  it  was  the  knowledge  of  this,  combined 
with  a  vague  suspicion  that  the  hat  knew  quite 
as  much  about  bird-fancying  as  the  head  within 
it,  which  made  him,  in  his  perplexity,  take  it  off, 
place  it  on  his  slack  knees  and  drop  the  four-anna 
piece  into  it,  as  if  it  had  better  decide  the  ques- 
tion. Sitting  so,  with  bare  head,  he  looked  hand- 
somer than  ever,  for  its  shape  was  that  of  a  young 
Adonis.  It  was,  in  fact,  the  only  thing  about  him, 
or  his  life,  whicli  corresponded  with  his  name, 
Agamemnon  Menelaus.  The  surname,  Gibbs,  used 
after  those  eight  resounding  syllables  to  come  as 
a  shock    to    the   various    chaplains  who    at    various 


THE   WINGS   OP    A    DOVE  333 

times  liad  undertaken  to  look  after  young  Gibbs 
spiritual  welfare.  Some  of  them,  the  more  experi- 
enced ones,  acquiesced  in  that  and  many  another 
anomaly  after  their  first  glance  at  his  soft  gentle 
face  ;  for  it  Avas  typical  of  that  class  of  Eurasian 
which  makes  the  soul  of  a  chaplain  sink  within 
him.  Others  reached  the  same  conclusion  after  a 
reference  to  the  mother,  Mrs.  Gibbs.  She  was  a 
very  dark,  pious  woman,  tearfully  uncertain  of  all 
things  save  that  she,  being  a  widow,  must  be  sup- 
ported b}^  charity ;  by  the  offertory  for  preference. 
She,  however,  made  the  problem  of  his  name  less 
intrusive  by  calling  him  Aggie  as  if  he  had  been 
a  girl. 

"They  are  young  birds,  as  the  Hiizoor  could 
see  for  himself  if  he  had  eyes,"  went  on  the  bird- 
catcher  with  a  yawn.  "  Next  moulting  they  will 
be  as  red  as  a  initti  seed.  But  it  is  five  annas, 
not  four." 

Aggie  had  no  lack  of  eyes  outwardly  ;  they  were 
large  and  soft  as  velvet,  and  as  they  looked  down 
at  the  avitovats  showed  a  thick  fringe  of  curling 
lashes.  But  there  was  an  almost  pathetic  guileless- 
ness  in  them,  and  one  brown  hand  hesitated  about 
his  breast-pocket.  He  had  another  anna  there,  part 
of  a  monthly  stipend  of  one  rupee  for  attending 
the  choir,  which  he  had  intended  to  spend  on 
sweets  —  preserved   pumpkins  for   choice  ;    but   the 


334  THE   WINGS    OF    A   DOVE 

avitovats,  with  their  promise  of  scarlet  phimage, 
cozened  his  indolent,  colour-loving  eyes  almost  as 
much  as  the  thought  of  the  sweets  did  his  palate. 
Should  he,  should  he  not?  The  mere  sight  of  the 
birds  was  a  strong  point  in  their  favour,  and  his 
hand  had  sought  the  inside  of  his  pocket  when 
a  whisper  met  his  ear. 

"  Hens  !  " 

It  was  unmistakable,  and  he  turned  to  look  at 
the  girl  behind  him.  She  was  sitting  on  her  heels, 
crunched  up  chin  and  knees,  holding  her  pigeon  close 
to  her  face  as  if  to  hide  it.  And  as  he  turned  she 
sidled  further  away  along  the  step  wdth  the  curious 
gliding  shuffle  peculiar  to  native  girls  and  pigeons. 
'^  Ka-boo-tri,  ka-hoo-tri^  ha-hoo-tri^'"  gurgled  the  pig- 
eon, as  if  pleased  at  the  motion.  It  was  a  blue- 
rock,  showing  a  purple  and  green  iridescence  on 
the  breast,  and  the  girl's  dress  matched  its  colour- 
ings exactly  ;  for  her  ragged  cotton  skirt  had 
washed  and  worn  to  a  dark  neutral  tint,  and  the 
shot-silk  bodice,  tattered  and  torn,  with  tarnished 
gold  embroidery  on  its  front,  took  gleams  of  a 
past  glory  from  the  sunlight.  Her  veil  had  faded 
in  its  folds  to  a  sort  of  cinnamon  brown,  touched 
with  blue,  and  both  it  and  the  bodice  were  many 
sizes  too  large  for  her  slight  childish  figure. 

''If  the  JIuzoor  is  not  to  buy,  let  him  give  place 
to     those     who    will,"    suggested   the    bird-catcher 


THE    WINGS    OF    A    DOVE  335 

cavalierly.  He  had  been  too  far  to  catch  the  whisper, 
and  thought  to  clinch  the  bargain  by  a  threat. 

Agamemnon  Menelaus  looked  at  him  nervously. 
"Are  you  sure  they  are  young  birds?"  he  sug- 
gested timidly.  "  They  might,  —  they  might  be 
hens,  you  know."  There  was  a  half -perceptible 
quiver  of  his  handsome  head  as  if  to  watch  the 
girl.  The  bird-catcher  broke  out  into  violent  assev- 
eration^^ and  Aggie's  hand,  out  of  sheer  trepida- 
tion, went  into  his  pocket  again. 

"  Hens  I  " 

This  time  there  was  a  ring  almost  of  command  in 
the  tone,  and  Agamemnon  obeyed  it  instinctively 
by  rising  to  go.  "  Ka-hoo-tri,  ka-hoo-tri,'"  came  the 
gurgle  of  the  pigeon  ;  or  was  it  partly  a  chuckle  from 
the  girl  as  she  sidled  still  further  along  the  step? 

"  So  !  that  is  good  riddance,"  said  the  bird- 
catcher  to  the  parrot-seller,  angrily.  "  God  made 
the  rainbow,  but  the  devil  made  the  dye-pot !  Yet 
I  thought  I  had  sold  them  at  last.  He  looked 
not  so  sharp  as  that." 

The  parrot-seller  yawned.  "'Twas  Kabootri  did 
it,"  he  remarked  with  bland  indifference.  "  She 
said  'hens.'  " 

The  bird-catcher  stared  at  him  incredulously, 
then  passed  the  look  on  to  the  girl  Avho  still  sat 
Avith  the  crooning  pigeon  held  close  to  her  face. 

"  Kabootri  ? "   he  echoed   with   an   uneasy  laugh. 


336  THE    WINGS    OF    A    DOVE 

"  Nay,  neighbour,  'twas  she  who  told  me  but  an 
hour  ago  that  if  I  sold  not  something  this  Friday 
she  would  kill  herself.  'Tis  a  trick  of  words  she 
hath  learned  of  her  trade,"  he  went  on  with  a 
curious  mixture  of  anger  and  approbation.  ''  But 
it  means  something  to  a  man  who  hath  cursed 
luck  and  a  daughter  who  has  a  rare  knack  of 
getting  her  own  way." 

The  parrot-seller  gave  a  pull  at  a  bulbul-seller's 
pipe  as  if  it  were  his  own.  "  Thou  wilt  be  dis- 
graced if  thou  give  it  her  much  longer,  friend," 
he  said  calmly.  "  'Tis  time  she  Avere  limed  and 
netted.  And  with  no  mother  either  to  whack 
her  !  " 

The  uneasy  laugh  came  again.  "  If  the  Nawab's 
pigeon  wins  we  may  see  to  a  son-in-law  ;  but  she 
is  a  child  still,  neighbour,  and  a  good  daughter 
too,  helping  her  father  more  than  he  helps  her." 
There  was  a  touch   of  real   pride   in  his  tone. 

"  She  said  '  hens,' "  retorted  the  parrot-seller. 
"  Ask  her  if  she  did  not." 

"  Kabootri  I   Kabootri !  " 

The  call  was  a  trifle  tremulous,  but  the  girl  rose 
with  alacrity,  throwing  the  pigeon  into  the  air 
with  the  deft  hand  of  a  practised  racer  as  she 
did  so.  The  bird  was  practised  also,  and  without 
a  flutter  flew  off  into  the  blue  like  an  arrow  from 
a  bow  ;   then,  as  if  confused  by  finding  itself  with- 


THE   WINGS    OF   A   DOVE  337 

out   a   rival,    wheeled   circling   round   the   rose-red 
pile  till  it  settled  on  one  of  the  marble  cupolas. 

''  What  is 't,  father  ? "  she  asked,  standing  on 
the  upper  steps  and  looking  down  on  the  two 
men.  She  was  wonderfully  fair,  with  a  little 
pointed  chin,  and  a  wide  firm  mouth  curiously 
at  variance  with  it,  as  were  the  big,  broad, 
black  eyebrows  with  the  liquid  softness  of  her 
eyes. 

"  Why  didst  say  '  hens,'  Kabootri  ? "  replied 
her  father,  assuming  the  fact  as  the  best  way  of 
discovering  the  truth,  since  her  anger  at  unjust 
suspicion  was  always  prompt. 

"  Why  ?  "  she  echoed  absently.  "  Why  ?  "  Then 
suddenly  she  smiled.  "  I  don't  know,  father  ;  but 
I  did !  " 

The  bird-catcher  broke  out  into  useless  oaths. 
His  daughter  had  the  dove's  name,  but  Avas  no 
better  than  a  peacock,  a  peacock  in  a  thief's  house  ; 
she  had  lost  him  five  annas  for  nothing. 

Kabootri's  eyebrows  looked  ominous.  ''Five 
annas  !  Fret  not  for  five  annas  !  "  she  echoed  scorn- 
fully, turning  on  her  heels  towards  the  gateway; 
and  flinging  out  her  arms  she  began  the  pigeon's 
note  —  the  pigeon's  name  and  her  own  — ''  Ka-hoo-tri, 
ha-hoo-tri,  ka-hoo-tri !  "  It  was  as  if  a  bird  were  call- 
ing to  its  mate,  and  the  answer  came  quickly  in  the 
soft  whir  of   many  wings  as  the  blue-rocks,  which 


338  THE   WINGS    OF    A    DOVE 

live  among  the  rose-red  battlements  and  marble 
cupolas,  wheeled  down  in  lessening  circles. 

"  Lo  I  there  is  Kabootri  calling  the  pigeons,"  re- 
marked an  old  gentleman,  who  was  crossing  city- 
wards from  the  Fort ;  a  stoutish  gentleman,  clothed 
immaculately  in  filmy  white  muslin  with  a  pale 
pink  inner  turban  folded  across  his  forehead  and 
showing  triangularly  beneath  the  white  outer  one. 
He  was  one  of  the  richest  bankers  in  Delhi ;  by 
religion  a  Jain,  the  sect  to  whom  the  destruction 
of  life  is  the  one  unpardonable  sin,  and  he  gave 
a  nervous  glance  at  the  distant  figure  on  the  steps. 

"  Nay  I  partner,  she  was  in  our  street  last 
week,"  put  in  his  companion,  who  was  dressed 
in  similar  fashion  ;  ''  and  Kabootri  is  not  as  the 
boys,  who  are  ever  at  one,  with  sparrows,  for  a 
pice  or  two.  She  hath  business  in  her,  and  a 
right  feeling.  She  takes  once  and  hath  done  with 
it  till  the  value  is  paid.  The  gift  of  the  old 
bodice  and  shawl,  which  my  house  gave  her,  kept 
us  free  for  six  months.  Still,  if  thou  art  afraid, 
we  can  go  round  a  bit." 

Kabootri  from  her  coign  of  vantage  saw  them 
sneaking  off  the  main  road,  and  smiled  at  their 
caution  contemptuously ;  but  what  they  had  said 
was  true,  she  had  business  in  her,  and  right  feel- 
ing. It  was  not  their  turn  to  pay ;  so,  cuddling 
a  captured  pigeon  to  her  breast,  she  set  off  in  an 


THE   WINGS    OF    A    DOVE  339 

opposite  direction,  threading  the  bazaars  and  alleys 
unerringly,  and  every  now  and  again  crooning  her 
own  name  softly  to  the  bird  which,  without  a 
struggle,  watched  her  with  its  onyx  eyes,  and 
called  to  her   again. 

"  There  is  Kabootri  vvdth  a  pigeon,"  remarked 
the  drug-seller  at  the  corner  to  his  clients,  the 
leisurely  folk  with  ailments  who  sit  and  suggest 
sherbets  to  each  other,  and  go  away  finally  to  con- 
sult a  soothsayer  for  a  suitable  day  on  which  to 
take  their  little  screw  or  phial  of  medicine.  "  She 
will  be  going  to  Sri  Parasnatlrs.  It  is  a  while 
since  she  was  there,  and  Kabootri  is  just,  for  a 
bird-slayer." 

Apparently  he  was  right  as  to  her  purpose  ;  for 
at  the  turn  leading  to  Sri  Parasnath's  place  of 
business,  she  sat  down  on  a  step,  and  after  a  pre- 
liminary caress  fastened  a  string  deftly  to  one  of 
the  pigeon's  feet.  Then  she  caressed  it  again, 
stroking  its  head  and  crooning  to  it.  Finally  with 
a  bound  she  started  to  her  feet,  flang  it  from  her 
to  flutter  forlornly  in  the  air,  her  level  black  eye- 
brows bent  themselves  downwards  into  a  portentous 
frown,  and  her  young.voice  rang  out  shrilly,  almost 
savagely,  '•'-Yahee^  choori-ydh-mdr.  Aihee^  clioori-ydli- 
mdr  !  (Hillo  I  the  bird-slayer  !  Hullo  !  the  bird- 
slayer  !)  " 

"Look  out,  brother,"  said  a  fat  old  merchant  in 


340  THE   WINGS    OF    A   DOYE 

sjDectacles,  who  was  poring  over  a  ledger  in  the 
wooden  balcony  of  an  old  house.  "  Look  out  and 
see  who  'tis.  If  'tis  Kabootri,  thou  canst  take 
eight  annas  from  the  box.  She  will  not  loose  the 
bird  for  less  ;  but  if  'tis  a  boy  with  sparrows,  wait 
and  bargain." 

It  was  Kabootri,  no  doubt.  Who  else  but  she 
came  like  a  young  tiger-cat  down  the  lane,  star- 
tling the  shadowy  silence  with  strange  savage 
threats  ?  Who  but  she  came  like  a  young  Bac- 
chante, dancing  with  fury,  showing  her  small  white 
teeth,  and,  apparently,  dragging  her  poor  victim 
by  one  leg,  or  whirling  it  cruelly  round  her  on  a 
string,  so  that  its  fluttering  wings  seemed  like  her 
fluttering  veil  ?  "  Give  !  Ai,  followers  of  Rishaba, 
give,  or  I  kill  I  Ai,  Jain  people,  give,  or  I  take 
life  !  " 

Sri  Parasnath  put  his  turbanless  bald  head  with 
its  odd  little  tuft  of  a  pigtail  over  the  balcony, 
and  concealing  his  certainty  under  a  very  credit- 
able show  of  dismay,  called  down  curses  solemnly 
on  her  head.  He  would  send  for  the  police  ;  he 
would  have  her  locked  up  and  fined.  She  might 
take  the  bird  and  kill  it  before  his  very  eyes  if 
she  chose,  but  he  would  not  pay  a  j^^Ve  for  its 
freedom.  To  all  of  which  Kabootri  replied  with 
a  fresh  method  of  doing  the  victim  to  death.  She 
played  her  part  with  infinite  spirit,  but  her  antago- 


THE    WINGS    OF    A   DOVE  341 

nist  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  some  orders  for  Man- 
chester goods  off  in  time  for  the  English  mail,  so 
his  performance  was  but  half-hearted,  and  ere  she 
had  well  begun  her  list  of  horrors,  the  eight-anna 
bit  came  clinking  down  on  the  brick  pavement, 
and  she,  as  in  duty  bound,  had  to  squat  beside  it 
and  loosen  the  string  from  the  pigeon's  leg.  As 
usual  she  had  to  drive  it  from  settling  on  her 
head  or  shoulders  by  wild  antics,  until  it  fluttered 
to  a  neighbouring  roof,  where  it  sidled  along  the 
copings  with  bright  eyes  watching  her  and  soft 
cooings  of  "  ka-hoo-tri^  ka-hoo-tri  !  " 

Once  beyond  Jain  eyes,  she  always  gave  back 
the  call  so  as  to  assure  lierself  that  no  harm  had 
been  done.  This  time  by  some  mischance  there 
happened  to  be  a  broken  feather  in  the  wing,  and 
her  lips  set  themselves  over  the  task  of  pulling  it 
out ;  that  being  a  necessity  to  even  flight.  After 
which,  came  renewed  caresses  with  a  passion  in 
them  beyond  the  occasion  ;  for  indeed  the  passion 
in  Kabootri  was  altogether  beyond  the  necessities 
of  her  life  —  as  yet.  True,  it  was  not  always  such 
plain  sailing  as  it  had  been  with  Sri  Parasnath. 
Newcomers  there  were,  even  old  customers  striving 
in  modern  fashion  to  shake  themselves  free  from 
such  deliberate  blackmailing,  who  needed  to  be  re- 
minded of  her  methods  ;  methods  ending  in  pas- 
sionate tears  over  her  own  cruelty  in  the  first  quiet 


342  THE   WINGS    OF    A   DOVE 

spot  she  could  reach.  But  of  late  years  she  had 
grown  cunning  in  the  avoidance  of  irretrievable 
injury.  A  dexterous  slipping  of  the  cord  would 
leave  her  captive  free,  and  she  herself  at  liberty 
to  go  round  to  some  poultry-seller  and  borrow  a 
poor  fowl  under  sentence  of  death,  with  which  she 
would  return  to  unflinching  execution.  These 
things  had  to  be,  and  her  young  face  would  be 
like  a  Medea's  as  she  did  the  deed.  But  even 
this  was  of  the  past,  since  folk  had  begun  to 
recognise  the  uselessness  of  driving  the  girl  to  ex- 
tremities. Thus  her  threat,  ''I  will  kill,  I  will 
kill  !  "  brought  at  most  but  a  broken  feather  in  a 
dove's  wing,  and  a  passionate  cuddling  of  the  vic- 
tim to  her  breast. 

This  one  was  interrupted  brusquely  by  a  ques- 
tion : 

''Why  did  you  say  hens?" 

It  was  Aggie.  He  happened  to  live  close  by 
in  a  tumble-down  tenement  Avith  two  square  yards 
of  verandah,  which  were  the  mainstay  of  Mrs. 
Gibbs'  position.  They,  and  the  necessity  for  black- 
ing Agamemnon  Menelaus'  boots  when  he  went  to 
the  choir,  separated  her  effectually  and  irrevocably 
from  her  native  neighbours.  He  did  not  sing 
i^ow,  —  his  voice  had  begun  to  crack,  —  but  he 
looked  well  in  a  surplice,  and  the  chaplain  knew 
he  would  have  to  pay  the  monthly  stipend  in  any 


THE   WINGS   OF   A   DOVE  343 

case.  So,  this  being  Friday,  Aggie  was  on  his 
Avay  to  evensong,  polished  boots  and  all  ;  they 
were  really  the  strongest  barrier  between  him  and 
the  tall  girl  with  her  pretty  bare  feet  who  stood 
up  to  face  him,  with  a  soft,  per[)lexed  look  in  the 
eyes  which  were  so  like  his  in  all  but  expression  ; 
and  even  that  merged  into  his  in  its  softness  and 
perplexity. 

"  Because,  —  because  they  ivere  hens,"  she  said 
with  an  odd  little  tremble  in  her  voice. 

So  the  two  young  things  stood  looking  at  each 
other,  while  the  pigeon  gurgled  and  cooed  :  "  Ka- 
hoo-tri^  ka-hoo-tri^  ka-hootri.^'' 

II 

"  So,  seest  thou,  Kabootri,  thou  wilt  turn  Chris- 
tian and  then  I  will  marry  thee."  Aggie's  out- 
look on  the  future  went  so  far,  and  left  the  rest 
to  Providence  ;  the  girl's  went  further. 

"2Vra/"  she  commented.  ''That  is  fool's  talk. 
I  am  a  bird-slayer  :  how  could  we  live  without  the 
pigeons  and  the  mosque?     Thou  hast  no  money." 

They  were  sitting  on  the  flight  of  steps  once 
more,  with  a  cage  full  of  scarlet  avitovats  between 
them,  so  that  the  passers-by  could  not  see  the 
hands  that  were  locked  in  each  other  behind  the 
cage. 

"  Then  I  will  marry  thee,  and  become  a  heathen," 


344  THE    WINGS    OF    A   DOVE 

amended  Agamemnon,  giving  a  squeeze  to  what  lie 
held.  She  smiled,  and  the  soft  curves  of  her  chin 
seemed  to  melt  into  those  of  her  long  throat,  as 
she  hung  her  head  and  looked  at  him  as  if  he  were 
the  most  beautiful  thing  in  her  world.  ''  That  is 
wiser,"  she  said,  "and  if  thou  dost  not  marry  me 
I  will  kill  myself.  So  that  is  settled."  He  gave 
another  squeeze  to  her  hand,  and  she  smiled  again. 
Then  they  sat  gazing  at  each  other  across  the 
avitovats,  hand  in  hand  like  a  couple  of  children  ; 
for  there  was  guilelessness  in  his  eyes  and  inno- 
cence in  hers. 

"  Lo  !  "  she  said  suddenly.  "  I  know  not  now 
why  I  said  'hens.'  "  She  paused,  failing  to  find  her 
own  meaning,  and  so  came  back  to  more  practical 
matters.  "Thou  hadst  best  be  buying  the  birds, 
Aga-Meean^  [for  so,  to  suit  her  estimate  of  him, 
she  had  chosen  to  amend  his  name],  or  folk  Avill 
wonder.  And  if  thou  wilt  leave  them  in  the  old 
place  in  the  Queen's  Gardens  I  will  fetch  them 
away,  and  thou  canst  buy  them  of  me  again  next 
Friday." 

There  was  no  cunning  in  her  manner,  only  a 
solid  grasp  on  the  exigencies  of  the  position.  Had 
he  not  a  mother  living  in  a  house  with  a  verandah, 
and  was  not  her  father  a  bird-seller  ?  Was  lie  not 
at  that  moment  betting  on  the  NaAvab's  coming 
1  Aga,  noble  ;  Meean,  prince. 


THE  WINGS   OF   A  DOVE  345 

pigeon-race  on  the  platform  above  them?  Despite 
these  exigencies,  however,  the  past  three  weeks  had 
been  pleasant ;  if  Aggie  was  still  rather  hazy  as  to 
the  difference  between  young  cocks  and  old  hens, 
it  was  from  no  lack  of  experience  in  the  buying  of 
avitovats.  Kabootri  used  to  give  him  the  money 
wherewith  to  buy  them,  and  leave  it  again  in  the 
hiding-place  where  she  found  the  birds;  so  it  was 
not  an  expensive  amusement  to  either  of  them. 
And  if  Agamemnon  Menelaus  had  not  grasped  the 
determination  which  underlay  the  girl's  threats  of 
taking  life  it  was  from  no  lack  of  hearing  them, 
ay,  and  of  shivering  at  them.  The  savage,  reckless 
young  figure,  startling  the  sunshine  and  shadow  of 
the  narrow  lanes  with  its  shrill  cry,  "  I  will  kill, 
I  will  kill,  yea,  I  will  take  life  I  "  had  filled  him 
with  a  sort  of  proud  bewilderment,  a  sacred  admi- 
ration. And  other  things  had  brought  the  same 
dizzy  content  with  them.  That  same  figure,  sidling 
along  the  rose-red  copings  like  any  pigeon,  to  gain 
the  marble  cupolas  where  the  young  birds  were 
to  be  found,  —  those  young  birds  which  must  be 
taught  betimes  to  play  her  game  of  Life  and 
Death,  as  all  her  world  must  be  taught  to  play  it, 
—  was  fascinating.  It  was  disturbing  when  it  sat 
close  to  him"  in  the  Queen's  Gardens,  eating  rose 
comfits  bought  out  of  the  blood-money,  and  cooing 
to   him   like    any    dove,   while    the    pigeons    in   the 


346  THE   AVINGS   OF    A    DOVE 

trees  above  it  called  ^^  Ka-boo-triy  ka-hoo-tri^'^  as  if 
tliey  were  jealous. 

The  outcome  of  it  all,  however,  was,  as  yet,  no 
more  than  the  discarding  of  boots  in  favour  of 
native  shoes,  and  the  supplanting  of  the  grey  wide- 
awake by  a  white  and  gold  saucer-cap  which  only 
cost  four  annas,  and  lay  on  the  dark  waves  of  the 
lad's  small  head  as  if  it  had  been  made  for  it. 
Kabootri  clasped  her  hands  tight  in  sheer  admira- 
tion as  she  watched  him  go  down  the  steps  with 
the  cage  of  scarlet  avitovats ;  but  Mrs.  Gibbs, 
while  admitting  the  superlative  beauty  of  tlie  com- 
bination, burst  into  floods  of  lamentation  at  the 
siglit,  for  it  was  a  symptom  she  had  seen  often  in 
lads  of  Aggie's  age.  His  elder  brother  had  begun 
that  way ;  that  elder  brother  who  was  now  a  thorn 
in  the  side  of  every  chaplain  from  Peshaw^ur  to 
Calcutta  by  reason  of  his  disconcerting  desire  to 
live  as  a  heathen  and  be  saved  as  a  Christian. 

So,  when  Aggie,  with  a  spark  of  unusual  spirit, 
liad  refused  to  put  on  the  boots  which  she  had 
made  the  servant  (for,  of  course,  there  had  to  be 
a  servant  in  a  house  with  a  verandah)  black  with 
the  greatest  care  ;  in  other  words,  when  he  had 
refused  to  go  to  church,  since  native  shoes  and  a 
Delhi  cap  are  manifestly  incompatible  with  a  sur- 
plice, she  went  over  to  a  bosom  friend  and  wept 
again.     But  Mrs.  Rosario  was  of  a  different  type 


THE    WINGS    OF    A    DOVE  347 

altogether.  She  seldom  wept,  taking  life  with  a 
pure  philosophy,  and  making  her  living  out  of  her 
handsome  daughters  by  marrying  them  off  to  the 
first  comer  on  the  chance  of  his  doing  well. 

"  There  is  no  —  need  —  to  cry,"  she  said  com- 
fortably, in  the  curious  IvdU-staccato,  hal^-legato  in- 
tonation of  her  race.  "Your  boy  is  —  no  —  worse 
than  all  boys.  If  they  do  not  get  —  on  —  a 
place  or  get  married  they  fall  —  into  mischief. 
God  made  them  —  so,  and  we  must  bow  to  —  His 
will,  as  we  are  Christians  and  not  heathen.  And 
girls  are  —  like  —  that  too.  If  they  —  do  —  not  — 
get — married  they  will  give  trouble.  So,  if  you 
ask  my  —  advice,  I  say  that  if  —  you  —  cannot  — 
get  your  poor  boy  on  —  a  —  place  you  had  better 
get  —  him  —  a  —  wife,  or  the  bad  black  woman  in 
the  bazaar  will  —  lead  —  him  —  to  bad  ways  ;  for 
he  is  a  handsome  boy,  almost  as  handsome  as  my 
Lily.     He  is  too  young,  perhaps,  and  she  —  is  —  too 

—  young  —  too,  but  if  you  like  he  can  beau  my 
Lily.  You  can  ask  some  —  one  —  for  —  clothes, 
and  then  he  can  beau  Lily  to  the  choir.  And 
give  a  little  hop  in  your  place,  Mrs.  Gibbs.  When 
my  girls  try  me  I  give  hops.     It  makes  them  all 

—  right,   and    your    boy  —  will  —  be  —  all  —  right 

—  too.  You  live  too  quiet,  Mrs.  Gibbs,  for  young 
folk ;  they  will  have  some  pleasure.  So  get  your 
son     nice     new     clothes,     and     I  —  will  —  give  — 


848  THE    WINGS  OF    A    DOVE 

a  —  hop  at  my  place,  and  send  my  cook  to  help 
yours." 

This  solid  sense  caused  Mrs.  Gibbs  to  lie  in  wait 
for  the  chaplain  in  his  verandah,  armed  with  a 
coarse  cotton  handkerchief  soaked  in  patchouli,  and 
an  assertion  that  Aggie's  absence  from  the  choir 
was  due  to  unsuitable  clothes.  And  both  tears 
and  scent  being  unbearable,  she  went  back  with 
quite  a  large  bundle  of  garments  which  had  be- 
longed to  a  merr}^  English  boy  who  had  come  out 
to  join  his  parents,  only  to  die  of  enteric  fever. 
"  Give  them  away  in  charity,  my  dear,"  the  father 
had  said  in  a  hard  voice,  "  the  boy  would  have 
liked  it  so  best  himself."  So  the  mother,  with 
hopeless  tears  over  the  scarce-worn  things,  had  sent 
them  over  to  the  chaplain  for  his  poor. 

Thus  it  happened  that  before  Kabootri  had  re- 
covered from  her  intense  delight  at  the  cap,  Mrs. 
Gibbs  was  laying  out  a  beautiful  suit,  cut  to  the 
latest  fashion,  to  await  Aggie's  return  from  one 
of  those  absences  which  had  become  so  alarmingly 
frequent.  There  was  a  brand-new  red  tie,  also  a 
pair  of  lavender  gloves,  striped  socks,  and  patent- 
leather  pumps.  To  crown  all,  there  was  a  note  on 
highly  scented  paper  with  an  L  on  it  in  lilies  of  the 
valley,  in  which  Mrs.  Rosario  and  her  daughters 
requested  the  pleasure  of  Mr.  Agamemnon  ^lenelaus 
Gibbs'  company  at  a  hop  that  evening.     What  more 


THE   WINGS   OF    A   DOVE  349 

could  a  young  man  like  Aggie  want  for  his  re- 
generation ?  Nothing  apparently :  it  was  impos- 
sible, for  instance,  to  think  of  sitting  on  the  steps 
with  Kabootri  in  a  suit  made  by  an  English  tailor, 
a  tall  hat,  and  a  pair  of  lavender  kid  gloves.  Yet 
the  fine  feathers  had  to  be  worn  when,  in  obedience 
to  the  R.S.V.P.  in  the  corner  of  the  scented  note, 
he  had  to  take  over  a  reply  in  which  Mr.  Aga- 
mejnnon  Menelaus  Gibbs  accepted  with  jjleasure, 
etc.,  etc. 

"  Oh,  mamma !  "  said  Miss  Lily,  who  received 
the  note  in  person  with  a  giggle  of  admiration, 
''I  do  like  him;  he  is  quite  the  gentleman."  The 
remark,  being  made  before  its  object  had  left  the 
tiny  courtyard,  which  the  Rosarios  dignified  by 
the  name  of  compound,  was  quite  audible,  and  a 
shy  smile  of  conscious  vanity  overspread  the  lad's 
handsome  face. 

About  the  same  time,  that  is  to  say  when  the 
sinking  sun,  still  gloriously  bright,  had  hidden  itself 
behind  the  vast  pile  of  the  mosque  so  that  it  stood 
out  in  pale  purple  shadow  against  a  background 
of  sheer  sunlight,  Kabootri  was  curled  up  on  a 
cornice  with  her  back  to  one  of  the  carven  pilasters 
of  a  cupola,  dreaming  idly  of  Aga-Meean  in  his 
white  and  gold  cap.  He  had  not  been  to  the 
steps  that  day,  so  from  her  airy  perch  she  was 
keeping    a   watch   for   him ;     and   as   she    watched, 


350  THE   WINGS    OF   A   DOVE 

lier  clasp  on  the  pigeon  she  was  caressing  tightened 
unconsciously,  till  with  a  croon  and  a  flutter  it 
struggled  for  freedom.  The  sound  brought  other 
wings  to  wheel  round  the  girl  expectantly,  for  it 
was  near  the  time  for  the  birds'  evening  meal. 
Sharafat-Nissa,  the  old  canoness  Avho  lived  on  the 
roof  below  the  marble  cupolas,  had  charge  of 
the  store  of  grain  set  apart  for  the  purpose  by 
the  guardians  of  the  mosque  ;  but  as  a  rule  Kabootri 
fed  the  pigeons.  She  did  many  such  an  odd  job 
for  the  queer  little  cripple,  half  pensioner,  half 
saint,  who  kept  a  Koran  class  for  poor  girls 
and  combined  it  with  a  sort  of  matrimonial 
agency  ;  for  the  due  providing  of  suitable  hus- 
bands to  girls  who  have  no  relations  to  see 
after  such  things  is  a  meritorious  act  of  piety;  a 
lucrative  one  also,  when,  as  in  Sharafat-Nissa's  case 
you  belong  to  a  good  family,  and  have  a  large  con- 
nection in  houses  where  a  good-looking  maiden  is 
always  in  request  as  an  extra  wife.  So,  as  she 
taught  the  Holy  Book,  her  keen  little  eyes  were 
always  on  the  alert  for  a  possible  bride.  They  had 
been  on  Kabootri  for  a  long  time  ;  hitherto,  how- 
ever, that  idle,  disreputable  father  downstairs  had 
managed  to  evade  the  old  canoness.  But  now  that 
the  great  pigeon-race  of  the  year  was  being  decided 
on  the  grassy  plain  between  the  mosque  and  the 
Fort,  his  last  excuse  would   be   gone  ;    for  he  had 


THE    WINGS    OF    A    DOVE  351 

all  but  promised  that,  if  he  lost,  Sharafat-Nissa 
should  arrange  the  sale  of  the  girl  into  some  rich 
house,  while  if  he  won  he  had  promised  himself 
to  give  Kabootri,  who  in  his  way  he  really  liked, 
a  strapping  young  husband  fit  to  please  any  girl  ; 
one  who,  being  of  her  own  caste,  would  allow  her 
the  freedom  which  she  loved  even  as  the  birds 
loved  it. 

She,  however,  knew  nothing  of  this  compact. 
So  when  the  great  shout  telling  of  victory  went 
up  from  tlie  packed  multitude  on  the  plain,  she 
only  wondered  with  a  smile  if  her  father  would 
be  swaggering  about  with  money  to  jingle  in  his 
pocket,  or  if  she  would  have  to  cry,  "  I  will  kill, 
I  will  kill,"  a  little  oftener  than  usual.  Sharafat- 
Nissa  heard  the  shout  also,  and,  as  she  rocked 
backwards  and  forwards  over  her  evening  chant 
of  the  Holy  Book,  gave  a  covetous  upward  glance 
at  the  slender  figure  she  could  just  see  among 
the  wings  of  the  doves.  Downstairs  among  the 
packed  multitudes,  the  shout  Avhich  told  him  of 
defeat  made  the  bird-catcher  also,  reprobate  as 
he  was,  look  up  swiftly  to  the  great  gateway 
which  was  fast  deepening  to  purple  as  the  sun 
behind  it  dipped  closer  to  the  horizon  ;  for  one 
could  always  tell  where  Kabootri  was  by  the  wheel- 
ing wings. 

"  Have    a   care  I "    he    said    fiercely   to    the    dis- 


352  THE   WINGS    OF    A   DOVE 

creetly-veiled  figure  that  evening  as  it  sat  behind 
the  narrow  slit  of  a  door  blocking  the  narrow 
stair,  which  Kabootri  trod  so  often  on  her  way 
to  and  from  the  roof.  "  Have  a  care,  sister  !  She 
is  not  easily  limed  or  netted."  A  sort  of  giggle 
came  from  the  veil.  "  Yea,  brother  !  Girls  are  all 
so,  but  if  the  cage  is  gilt " 

It  was  just  a  week  after  this,  and  the  sunlight 
behind  the  shadow  of  the  mosque  was  revelling 
in  sheeny  iridescence  of  her  tattered  silk  bodice, 
that  Kabootri's  figure  showed  clear  and  defiant 
against  the  sky,  as  she  stood  on  the  uppermost, 
outermost  coping  of  the  gateway.  There  was  a 
sheer  fall  beneath  her  to  the  platform  below.  She 
had  just  escaped  from  tlie  room  where  she  had 
been  caged  like  any  bird  for  three  whole  days, 
and  the  canoness  on  the  roof  below  was  looking 
up  at  her  prisoner  helplessl}^ 

"  Listen,  my  pigeon,  my  beloved  I  "  she  wheedled 
breathlessly.  "  Come  down,  and  let  us  talk  it 
over  together." 

"  Open  the  door,  I  say,"  came  the  shrill  young 
voice.  "  Open,  or  I  kill  myself  I  Open,  or  I 
kill  I  " 

"  Heart's  blood  !  Listen  !  He  shall  be  a  young 
man,  a  handsome  man." 

Handsome,  young  !  Was  not  Aga-Meean  young  ? 
Was   he    not   handsome?     The    thought   made   her 


THE    WINGS    OF    A    DOVE  353 

voice  shriller,  clearer.  "  Open  the  door,  or  I  kill  ! 
Open,  or  I  take  life !  "  The  words  were  the 
words  of  the  young  tiger-cat  that  had  been  wont 
to  startle  the  sunshine  and  the  shadow,  making 
Sri  Parasnath  seek  his  cash-box  incontinently  ; 
but  there  was  a  new  note  of  appeal  in  their  deter- 
mination ;  for  if  it  was  but  three  days  since  she 
had  been  caged,  it  was  six  since  she  had  seen 
Aga-Meean.  What  had  become  of  him?  Had 
he  sought  and  missed  her?     Had  he  not? 

"  Listen,  my  bird,"  came  the  wheedling  voice  ; 
"come  down  and  listen.  Kabootri  !  I  swear  that 
if  thou  likest  not  this  one  I  will  let  thee  go  and 
seek  another.     I  swear  it,  child." 

The  sidling  feet  edged  nearer  along  the  coping, 
for  this  respite  would  at  least  give  time.  "  Swear 
it  on  the  Holy  Book.  So  —  in  thy  right  hand  and 
in  thy  left.  Let  me  see  it."  She  stretched  her 
own  hands  out  over  the  depths,  and  at  the  sight 
the  expectant  pigeons  came  wheeling  round  her. 

"  I  swear  by  God  and  His  prophet,"  began  the 
old  canoness,  gabbling  as  fast  as  she  could  over 
the  oath  ;  but  above  her  breathless  mumble  came 
a  little  shriek,  a  little  giggle,  and  a  girl's  voice 
from  below.  "  Ah,  Mr.  Gibbs  I  You  are  so 
naughty,  so   very  naughty  !  " 

Kabootri  could  not  understand  the  words,  but  the 
giggle  belongs   to   all  tongues,   and  it  jarred  upon 


354  THE    WINGS    OF    A   DOVE 

her  passion,  her  despair.  She  looked  down,  and 
saw  a  well-known  figure,  changed  utterly  by  a 
familiar,  yet  unfamiliar,  dress.  She  saw  two  girls 
about  her  own  age,  with  tiny  waists,  huge  sleeves, 
and  hats.  It  was  Aga-Meean,  escorting  the  two 
Miss  Rosarios,  who  had  expressed  a  desire  to  see 
the  mosque.  And  she  saw  something  else  ;  she  saw 
the  look  which  the  prettiest  of  the  two  girls  gave 
to  Aga-Meean  ;  she  saw  the  look  he  gave  in  return. 
Her  sidling  feet  paused;   she  swayed  giddily. 

''  Kabootri  !  Kabootri !  "  called  the  woman  on 
the  roof,  eagerly,  anxiously,  "I  have  sworn  it. 
Come  down,  my  pigeon,  come  down,  my  dove  ! 
It  makes   me  dizzy." 

So  that  was  Aga-Meean !  The  mistress  said 
sooth;  the  wings  made  one  dizzy,  the  wings, — 
the   wings   of    a   dove ! 

She  had  them !  For  the  wind  caught  the  wide 
folds  of  her  veil,  and  claimed  a  place  in  the  wide, 
fluttering  sheen  of  her  bodice,  as  she  fell,  and 
fell,  and  fell,  down  from  the  marble  cupolas,  past 
the  purple  shadow  of  the  great  gateway,  to  the 
wide  platform  where  the  doves  are  bought  and 
sold.  And  some  of  the  pigeons  followed  lier,  and 
some  sat  sidling  on  _the  coping,  calling  "  Ka-hoo-tri^ 
ka-hoo-tri.''  But  those  of  them  who  knew  her 
best  fled  affrighted  into  the  golden  halo  of  sun- 
shine behind  the  rose-red   pile. 


THE   SWIMMERS^ 

"  Miriam,  Miriam,  what  is  it  ?  Canst  thou  not 
tell  a  body,  bound  to  a  millstone  as  I  ?  Thy 
tongue  goes  fast  enough  when  I  wish  thee  silent ! " 
It  was  a  Avoman's  voice  that  was  beginning  to  lose 
its  fulness  and  sweetness,  in  other  words,  its 
womanliness,  which  called  up  from  the  courtyard, 
where  the  hum  of  the  quern  grinding  the  yellow 
Indian  corn  deadened  all  other  sounds. 

'^  It  is  naught,  mother  !  Only  Hussan  and  Husayn 
once  more."  It  was  a  woman's  voice  also  from  the 
roof  where  the  Indian  corn  was  drying  to  a  richer 
gold  in  the  sunlight;  but  it  was  a  voice  which 
had  hardly  come  as  yet  to  its  full  roundness,  in 
other  words,  to  its  perfect  womanliness. 

"  Hussan  and  Husayn  !  What  makes  them  be 
for  ever  fighting  like  young  cocks  ?  " 

There  was  an  instant's  pause  ;  then  the  voice 
from  the  roof  came  piously,  "  God  knows  !  " 

Probably  He  did,  but  Miriam  herself  might  have 
been  less  modest   as   to   her   knowledge.     For   the 

1  Copyright,  1895,  by  Macmillan  &  Co. 
365 


356  THE   SWIMMERS 

case  stood  thus.  It  was  a  corner  house  between 
two  sequestered  alleys  which  intersected  each  other 
at  right  angles,  and  there  had  been  a  lingering 
lover,  expectant  of  some  recognition,  in  each  alley. 
Now,  if  half-a-handful  of  golden  corn  be  thrown 
as  a  guerdon  over  the  parapet  just  at  the  angle, 
and  if  the  lovers,  hot-blooded  young  sparks,  spring 
forward  incontinently  to  pick  up  the  precious  grains 
and  meet,  then 

"  Indeed,  mother,  they  were  very  like  cocks,"  re- 
marked Miriam  gravely,  as  she  stepped  daintily 
down  the  narrow  mud-stairs  again  to  resume  her 
spinning  in  the  courtyard.  Once  more  she  spoke 
truth,  but  hardly  the  whole  truth  ;  since  when 
featherless  bipeds  are  picking  up  grains  of  corn 
out  of  a  gutter,  they  can  hardly  avoid  a  resem- 
blance to  feathered  ones. 

So  the  whir  of  the  wheel  joined  the  hum  of  the 
quern,  and  both  formed  a  background  to  her  sudden 
girlish  laugh  at  the  recollection  of  what  she  had 
seen  through  the  peep-hole  in  the  parapet. 

The  whole  thing  was  a  play  to  this  Osmanzai 
girl,  who,  for  all  her  seclusion,  knew  perfectly  well 
that  she  was  the  beauty  of  the  village,  and  that 
many  another  spark  besides  Hussan  and  Husayn 
would  be  only  too  glad  of  half-a-handful  of  Indian 
corn  to  pick  up  out  of  the  gutter.  But  these  two 
being   the    most    expert    swimmers    in    that   quaint 


THE    SWIMMERS  357 

bare  colony  of  huts  set  on  a  loose  shale  slope  with 
the  wild  wicked  rush  of  the  Indus  at  its  foot,  were, 
perhaps,  the  most  interesting.  That  is  to  say,  if 
you  excepted  Khasia,  the  big  soft  shepherd  who 
came  down  sometimes  from  the  grassy,  fir-crowned 
slopes  higher  up  the  gorge  ;  the  Maha-ban  or  Great 
Forest  Hills,  beyond  which  lay  the  Black  Mountain. 
A  strange  wild  country,  is  this  of  the  Indus 
gorge,  just  as  the  great  river  begins  to  think  of 
the  level  plains  in  front  of  it.  A  strange  wild 
people  are  those  who  live  in  that  close-packed,  flat- 
roofed  village  upon  the  shale  slope,  where  a  foot- 
fall sends  the  thin  leaves  of  mica-schist  slithering 
aAvay  into  the  rushing  river..  There  is  no  stranger 
country,  no  wilder  people.  For  this  is  Sitana,  the 
place  of  refuge  for  every  Mohammedan  fanatic  who 
finds  the  more  civilised  plains  too  hot  even  for  his 
fiery  faith  ;  Sitana,  the  dwelling-place  of  the  Syyuds 
who,  since  the  days  of  their  great  leader  Ahmad, 
have  spent  their  lives  in  killing  every  hell-doomed 
infidel  they  can  get  hold  of  in  cold  blood.  And 
as  the  pigs  of  Hindus  live  on  the  other  side  of 
the  rushing  river,  it  follows  that  those  who  kill 
must  also  swim,  since  there  is  no  bridge  far  or 
near.  That  was  why  Hussan  and  Husayn,  and 
many  another  of  their  sort,  with  carefully  oiled 
thcAvs  and  sinews  of  bronze,  would  go  down  the 
shale    slope    on   dark   nights    and    slip    softly    into 


358  THE   SWIMMERS 

the  ice-cold  stream.  Then,  if  there  was  a  glint 
of  moon,  you  could  see  them  caught  in  the  great 
upward  curve  of  the  mad  current  inshore,  the  two 
skin-bladders  that  Avere  slung  under  their  armpits 
making  it  look  as  if  six  dark  heads,  not  two,  were 
drifting  down  and  down  ;  yet  somehow  drifting 
nearer  and  nearer  to  the  other  side  where  the  pigs 
of  Hindus  were  to  be  found.  But  even  a  glint  of 
moon  kept  them,  as  a  rule,  talking  of  future  nights 
—  unless  there  was  some  cause  to  raise  their  reck- 
lessness to  fever-height  ;  for  even  that  glint  was 
enough  to  make  the  police  watchers  on  the  other, 
the  English,  side  slip  softly  also  into  the  stream, 
and  give  chase.  A  strange,  wild  chase  indeed  it 
was  ;  down  and  down  in  the  dark  till  the  blockade 
was  run,  or  the  venture  abandoned  for  another 
night.  Or  stranger,  wilder  still,  two  men  with 
knives  met  on  the  crest  of  the  current  and  fought 
a  strange,  bloodless  fight,  hacking  at  the  bladders 
because  they  were  larger  than  the  head,  and  the 
loss  of  them  meant  equally  certain  disablement. 
For  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  in  that  wild 
stream  if  they  were  pricked  but  to  cast  them  free 
and  dive  —  to  dive  down  and  down  past  the  current, 
to  come  up,  please  God  !    nearer  Jiome. 

So,  because  of  those  Avatchers  on  the  other  side, 
the  Sitana  swimmers  could  not  start  openly,  nor 
from  tlie   same   place.     They  went  singly,  silently, 


THE   SWIMMERS  359 

but  the  next  morning  ere  the  light  came  fully 
they  ^yould  all  be  resting  together  on  the  steps 
of  the  little  mosque  ;  unless,  indeed,  some  of  them 
had  not  returned  ;  were,  in  fact,  to  return  no  more. 
And  the  worshippers  would  be  crowding  round 
one  or  two,  perhaps,  while  the  others  looked  on 
enviously  to  hear  how  some  traveller  had  been  hap- 
pened upon  and  done  to  death  in  the  dark  upon 
the  undulating  tract  of  low  jungle  on  the  other 
side.  Then  the  worshippers  going  home  would  say 
casually  in  their  houses  :  "  Hussan  killed  his  man 
last  night ;  that  makes  him  two  ahead  of  Husayn. 
And  Ahmad,  the  new  one,  hath  another,  so  that 
brings  him  next  to  Husayn,  who  will  need  to  work 
hard."  And  the  Avomen  would  gossip  about  it 
among  themselves,  and  say  that,  of  course,  Miriam, 
the  village-beauty,  would  choose  the  best  swimmer 
when  the  time  came  for  the  curious  choice  which 
is  allowed  the  Pathan  girl  among  lovers  whom  she 
is  supposed  never  to  have  seen.  As  yet,  however, 
Miriam  had  only  laughed,  and  thrown  handfuls  of 
yellow  corn  into  the  gutter,  and  said  things  to 
the  aspirants'  female  relations  which  were  sure  to 
be  repeated,  and  make  the  rivalry  run  fiercer  than 
ever.  She  did  all  this  partly  because  of  the  big 
shepherd,  partly  because  it  was  good  for  the  faith 
to  stimulate  the  young  men's  courage,  but  mostly 
because  it  amused  her. 


360  THE   SWIMMERS 

It  was  far,  however,  from  having  that  effect  on 
the  Englishman  who  was  responsible  for  the  repu- 
tation of  the  district  over  the  water.  The  more  so 
because  his  name  happened  to  be  John  Nicholson, 
and  John  Nicholson  was  not  a  man  to  allow  any 
increase  of  crime  within  his  borders  without  know- 
ing the  reason  why,  and  meting  out  punishment 
for  the  offence. 

"  What  the  deuce  does  it  mean  ?  "  he  said  to  the 
trembling  native  official  in  charge  of  that  particu- 
lar portion  of  the  country  which  lay  over  against 
Sit^na.  "  There  have  been  tAventy  murders  this 
quarter  against  ten  in  the  last.  And  I  told  you 
that  for  every  man  killed  on  our  side  there  were 
to  be  two  in  Sitana.  What  on  earth  are  your 
swimmers  about?  If  they  are  not  so  good  as 
theirs,  get  others.  Get  something  !  There  must 
be  some  fault  on  your  part,  or  they  wouldn't  cock 
their  tails  up  in  this  way.  Remedy  it;  that  is 
what  you  have  got  to  do,  so  don't  ask  questions 
as  to  how  it  is  to  be  done.  I'll  back  you  up, 
never  fear." 

And  then  he  took  his  telescope  out,  as  he  sat 
on  liis  horse  among  the  low  bushes  down  by  the 
rushing  river,  and  prospected  before  he  galloped 
off,  neck  or  nothing,  as  his  fashion  was,  to  regain 
his  camp  thirty  miles  away,  and  write  an  urgent 
letter  to  Government  detailing  fully  the   measures 


THE    SWIMMERS  361 

which  he  intended  to  adopt  for  the  repression  of 
these  scandalous  crimes.  Bat  even  a  telescope  did 
not  show  him  Miriam's  face  as  she  sat  spinning  in 
the  courtyard.  And  the  rest  of  the  long,  low,  flat- 
roofed  village  clinging  to  the  shaly  slope  seemed 
very  much  at  its  usual ;  that  is  to  say,  the  common- 
place nest  of  as  uncommon  a  set  of  religious  scoun- 
drels as  could  be  found  north  or  south.  So  he 
told  himself  that  they  must  have  been  strength- 
ened lately  by  a  new  contingent  of  fanatics  from 
the  plains,  or  that  the  approaching  i\Iohurrum-tide 
had  raised  their  religious  fervour  to  boiling-point. 
He  allowed  these  reasons  to  himself,  though  he 
permitted  none  to  his  subordinate ;  but  neither  he 
nor  the  scared  police  inspector  dreamed  of  that 
laughing  girl's  face  over  the  water  which  was  the 
cause  of  Hussan  and  Husayn's  unusual  activity. 
Still  as  he  gathered  his  reins  into  his  left  hand 
he  paused  to  give  a  more  kindly  look  from  under 
his  dark  eyebrows  at  the  inspector's  knock-knees. 
"  Why  don't  you  get  some  of  their  swimmers  ?  " 
he  asked  curtly.  "I  could."  Doubtless  he  could; 
he  was  a  man  who  got  most  things  which  he  set 
himself  to  get.  Yet  even  he  might  have  failed 
here  but  for  that  girl's  face,  that  handful  of  yellow 
Indian  corn,  and  the  fierce  fight  which  followed 
for  both  between  those  two,  Hussan  and  Husayn, 
who,    as    they   were   finally    held    back    from    each 


362  THE    SWIMMERS 

other  by  soothing,  friendly  hands,  felt  that  the  end 
was  nigh  if  it  had  not  already  come.  Brothers  of 
the  same  belief,  —  fellow- workers  in  that  stream  of 
Death,  —  first  and  second  alternately  in  the  great 
race  for  men's  lives,  they  knew  that  the  time  had 
come  when  they  must  be  at  each  other's  throat 
and  settle  which  was  to  be  best  once  and  for  all 
—  which  was  to  be  best  in  Miriam's  eyes.  And 
then  to  their  blind  wrath  came  an  authoritative 
voice,  the  voice  of  the  holiest  man  there,  the  Syyud 
Ahmad,  whom  to  disobey  was  to  be  accursed. 
"There  is  too  much  of  this  brawling,"  came  the 
fiat.  "  *Tis  a  disgrace.  Lo  !  Hussan,  Husayn,  here 
among  the  elders,  swear  before  the  Lord  to  have 
done  with  it.  Swear  that  neither  will  raise  hand 
again  against  a  hand  that  fights  for  the  same 
cause.  Swear,  both  of  you."  A  chorus  of  approval 
came  from  the  bystanders  as  those  two,  thus 
checked,  stood  glaring  at  each  other.  There  were 
a  few  grains  of  the  yellow  Indian  corn  still  in 
the  gutter  at  their  feet ;  and  they  looked  at  them 
as  they  swore  never  again  to  raise  a  hand  against 
one  fighting  the  good  fight. 

That  same  day,  at  dusk,  Hussan  and  Husayn 
sat  on  the  edge  of  the  stream,  their  feet  almost 
touching  the  water,  their  skin-bladders  beside  them, 
their  sharp  knives  hung  in  a  sheath  round  their 
necks.     Their   bronze   muscles   shone   even   in   the 


THE    SWIMMERS  363 

growing  gloom  ;  from  head  to  foot  they  were  lithe, 
strong,  graceful  in  their  very  strength.  They  sat 
close  to  each  other  as  they  had  often  sat  before, 
looking  out  over  the  tumbling  rush  of  the  wild 
current,  to  the  other  side  of  the  river. 

"Yea  I  Then  I  will  go  forth  to-night  as  thou 
sayest,  Hussan  ;  and  when  I  return  equal,  we  will 
draw  lots  which  is  to  take  service  on  the  other 
side." 

"  So  be  it,  Husayn  ;  I  will  wait  for  thee.  And 
see,  if  thou  couldst  kill  one  of  their  swimmers, 
'twere  better.  Then  will  it  be  easier  to  get  his 
place.  Hit  up,  brother,  from  the  water ;  'tis  more 
deadly  than  the  downward  stroke." 

And  as  they  sat  side  by  side,  speaking  quietly, 
almost  indifferently,  the  evening  call  to  prayer  rang 
out  over  the  wild  wicked  stream,  and  without 
another  word  they  faced  round  from  the  river  to 
the  western  hills.  The  parapet  of  Miriam's  house 
stood  out  higher  than  the  rest  of  the  village.  Per- 
haps they  made  it  the  Kaaba  of  their  prayers, 
though  they  were  orthodox  enough  in  their  genu- 
flexions. 

"Hussan  and  Husayn  have  been  made  by  the 
Pir  sahib,  to  swear  they  will  not  fight  any  more," 
said  a  girl,  who  giggled  as  she  spoke,  to  INIiriam 
when  they  were  coming  back  with  their  water-pots 
from  the  river. 


364  THE   SWIMMERS 

''Loll!  there  be  plenty  others  who  will,"  answered 
the  round  sweet  voice  that  had  not  yet  come  to 
its  full  sweetness  and  roundness.  "  They  are  all 
like  fighting-cocks,  except  the  shepherds.  Belike 
'tis  the  sheep  which  make  them  peaceful,  so  they 
have  time  to  laugh.  Hussan  and  Husayn  are  ever 
breathless  from  some  struggle.  I  would  not  be  as 
they." 

''  Lazybones  !  "  retorted  the  giggler.  "  Thy 
mother-in-law  will  need  her  tongue.  Thy  water- 
pot  is  but  half -full  even  now." 

^'  Still,  it  is  heavy  enough  for  my  arms,"  replied 
the  sweet  voice  indifferently,  yet  sharply,  ''  and  the 
river  is  far."  Then  it  added  inconsequently  :  ^' But 
there  are  streams  up  in  the  hills  that  folk  can 
guide  to  their  doors.  And  the  grass  grows  soft 
too.  Here  is  nothing  but  stones ;  I  hate  them  , 
they  are  so  hard." 

"And  the  big  shepherd's  mother  is  dead,"  put 
in  another  girl  pertly  ;  whereat  the  rest  giggled 
louder  than  ever. 

Was  it  Hussan  or  Husayn  who,  three  days  after- 
wards, appeared  suddenly  before  the  District-officer 
in  camp  with  a  nicely  written  petition  on  a  regula- 
tion sheet  of  English-made  paper,  requesting  that 
he  might  be  put  on  as  a  swimming  patrol  on  the 
river  opposite  Sitana  in  place  of  one  who  was  sup- 
posed to  have  been  killed   or   drowned?     There   is 


THE   SWIMMERS  365 

no  need  to  know.  No  need  to  know  which  it  was 
who  won  the  toss  when  Husayn  came  back  with 
a  smile  to  say  that,  so  far,  they  Avere  quits,  and 
might  begin  a  new  game.  Whichever  it  Avas,  John 
Nicholson  looked  at  the  lean  bronze  thews  and 
sinews  approvingly,  and  then  asked  the  one  crucial 
question,  "  Can  you  ?  " 

The  man  smiled,  a  quick,  broad  smile.  "  None 
better,  ffuzoor,  on  the  Indus.  There  is  one,  over 
the  water,  who  deems  himself  my  match.  God 
knows  if  he  is." 

John  Nicholson,  who  had  bent  over  his  writing 
again,  glanced  up  hastily.  "  So  that  is  it.  Here, 
Moonshee,  write  an  order  to  the  man  at  Khanpur 
to  put  this  man  on  at  once."  He  was  back  at  his 
writing  almost  before  the  order  was  ended,  and  in 
the  silence  which  followed  under  the  white  wings 
of  the  tent  set  Avide  to  all  the  winds  of  heaven, 
the  sound  of  two  pens  could  be  heard.  One  was 
the  Englishman's,  writing  a  report  to  headquarters 
saying  that  the  increase  of  crime  must  be  checked 
by  reprisals,  the  other  the  native's,  bidding  the 
inspector  put  on  the  bearer  as  a  Government 
swimmer. 

"  For  signature,  Huzoor^^  came  a  deferential 
voice,  and  the  still-busy  pen  shifted  itself  to  the 
shiny  paper  laid  beside  it,  and  the  dark,  keen, 
kindly  eyes   looked   up   once  more    for  half   a  sec- 


860  THE    SWIMMERS 

Olid.  "  Well,  good  luck  to  you  !  I  hope  you'll 
kill  him,  whoever  he  is." 

"  By  the  help  of  God,  Huzoo7\  by  the  help  of 
God  !  " 

Which  was  it,  Hussan  or  Husayn,  who  in  the 
growing  dusk  walked  up  and  down  the  shaly  gla- 
cis below  the  long  cluster  of  Sitana,  watching  the 
opposite  bank  with  tlie  eyes  of  a  lynx  for  each 
stone  of  vantage,  each  shallow  whence  a  few  yards' 
start  might  be  gained  ?  Which  was  it,  Husayn  or 
Hussan,  who  in  the  same  dusk  paced  up  and  down 
the  low  bank  on  the  other  side  watching  in  his 
turn,  with  untiring  eyes,  for  the  quicker  curve  of 
the  current  where  a  bold  swimmer  might  by  one 
swift  venture  drift  down  faster  to  the  calmer 
water,  and  so  have  a  second  or  two  in  which  to 
regain  breath  ere  the  fight  began?  What  matters 
it  whether  the  panther  was  on  the  western  bank 
and  the  leopard  on  the  eastern  ?  They  were  two 
wild  beasts  pacing  up  and  down,  up  and  down, 
with  their  feet  upon  the  water's  edge ;  up  and 
down,  up  and  down,  even  when  the  moon  rose 
and  their  shadows  showed  more  distinctly  than 
they  did  themselves  ;  for  the  oil  upon  their  limbs 
caught  the  light  keenly  like  the  glistening  shale 
and  the  glistening  wet  sand  at  their  feet.  Up 
and  down,  up  and  down,  they  paced,  in  the  still- 
ness and  the  peace,  with  only  the  noise  of  the  rush- 


THE   SWIMMERS  367 

ing  river,  sliimberously,  monotonously,  insistent ;  up 
and  down,  up  and  down  till  the  cry  of  the  muazzim 
at  dawn  came  echoing  over  the  water. 

Prayer  is  more  than  sleep!     Prayer  is  more  than 


Ay !  more  even  than  sleeplessness  with  sheer 
murder  in  heart  and  brain.  So  peace  fell  between 
those  two  while  they  turned  towards  Mecca  and 
prayed  ;  for  what,  God  knows.  Perhaps  once  more 
the  real  spiritual  Kaaba  was  what  they  saw  with 
the  ejes  of  the  flesh  ;  that  flat-roofed  house  just 
beginning  to  blush  rosy  in  the  earliest  rays  of  the 
rising  sun ;  more  probabl}^  it  was  not,  since  they 
had  passed  through  love  to  hatred.  And  then, 
prayers  over,  murder  was  over  also  for  the  time, 
since  they  could  not  court  detection  by  daylight. 

"They  are  wondrous  keen  on  the  other  side, 
despite  the  moon,"  said  the  elders  of  the  village 
and  the  officials  over  the  way,  alike  ;  "  but  there 
is  no  fear  our  watchman  will  be  taken  at  a  dis- 
advantage.    He  is  there  from  dusk  till  dawn." 

"  Ay  !  "  replied  wiseacres  on  either  side  ;  "  but 
when  the  moon  wanes,  what  then  ?  " 

It  came  even  before  that,  came  with  a  great 
purple  mass  of  thunder-clouds  making  the  Black 
^fountain  bej^ond  the  ^Nlahaban  deserve  its  name, 
and  drawing  two  pair  of  eyes,  one  on  either  side 
of   the  stream,  into  giving  hopeful   glances  at   the 


368  THE   SWIMMERS 

slow  majestic  march  of  gloom  across  the  sky.  It 
Avas  dusk  an  hour  sooner,  dawn  an  hour  later  than 
usual  that  night  and  day,  so  there  was  plenty  of 
time  for  sheer  murder  before  prayer- time.  And 
as  there  was  no  storm,  no  thunder  after  all,  but 
only  the  heavy  clouds  hanging  like  a  curtain  over 
the  moon,  a  faint  splash  into  the  rushing  river 
might  have  been  heard  some  time  in  the  night, 
followed  b}^  another.  Then  after  a  while  a  cry 
broke  the  brooding  silence  above  the  hurrying 
whisper  below  ;  the  cry  of  faith,  and  fate,  and 
fight. 

Allah-ho-Akhhar  !     AUah-ho-hukk  ! 

Perhaps  it  was  the  muazzhn  again,  proclaiming 
out  of  due  time  that  "God  is  Might  and  Right"  ; 
or  maybe  it  Avas  those  two  swimmers  in  the  river 
as  they  caught  sight  of  each  other  in  the  whirling 
water.  If  so,  Hussan  struck  upwards  from  the 
water,  no  doubt,  and  Husayn,  mindful  of  advice, 
followed  suit ;  and  so  the  six  black  heads  must 
have  gone  drifting  down  stream  peacefully,  save 
for  the  hatred  in  the  two  faces  glaring  at  each 
other,  since  the  river  hid  their  bloAvs  decorously. 
But  there  Avas  no  trace  of  them  on  it  far  or  near 
Avhen  the  sun  rose  over  the  eastern  hills,  and  the 
big  shepherd,  singing  a  guttural  love-song,  came 
leaping  down  the  stony  path  tow^ards  Sitana  Avith 
a  bunch  of  red  rhododendrons  behind  his  ear. 


THE   SWIMMERS  369 

Some  days  afterwards,  however,  the  native  official 
at  the  Police  Station  rode  over  to  see  his  superior, 
and  reported  with  a  smirk  that  he  had  seen  through 
the  telescope  a  great  weeping  and  wailing  at  Sitana. 
Two  of  their  swimmers  had  apparently  been  killed 
in  fair  fight,  for  their  bodies  had  been  brought  up 
for  burial  from  the  backwater  further  down  the 
river  ;  and  as  the  new  man,  whom  the  Huzoor  had 
appointed,  had  either  absconded  or  been  killed  also 
that  just  made  the  proportion  what  his  Honour 
had  laid  down  for  future  guidance,  two  to  one. 

"  H'm  ! "  said  John  Nicholson  half  to  himself, 
"  I  wonder  which  of  the  two  was  really  the  better 
man." 

2b 


THE   FAKEER'S   DRUM 

"  0!  most  almiglity  wictoria^  V.R.,  reg.  hritanni- 
corum  {V.I.^  Kaiser-i-Hmd),  please  admit  hearer  to 
privileges  of  praising  God  on  the  little  drum  as  oc- 
casion hefitteth^  and  your  petitioner  will  ever  pray^'' 
etc. 

It  was  written  on  a  scrap  of  foreign  paper  duly 
stamped  as  a  petition,  and  it  did  not  need  the  in- 
terpolation of  imperial  titles  to  prove  that  this 
was  not  by  any  means  its  first  appearance  in 
court.  To  be  plain,  it  had  an  "  ancient  and  a  fish- 
like smell,"  suggestive  of  many  years'  acquaintance 
with  dirty  humanity.  I  looked  at  the  man  who 
had  presented  it  —  a  very  ordinary  fakeer^  standing 
with  hands  folded  humbly  —  and  was  struck  by  the 
wistful  expectancy  in  his  face.  It  was  at  once 
hopeful  yet  hopeless.  Turning  to  the  court-reader 
for  explanation,  I  found  a  decorous  smile  flowing 
round  the  circle  of  squatting  clerks.  It  was  evi- 
dently an  old-established  joke. 

"  He  is  damnably  noisef  ul  man.  Sir,"  remarked 
370 


THE  fakeer's  drum  371 

my  sarishtidar,  cheerfully,  "  and  his  place  of  sittmg 
close  to  Deputy-Commissioner's  bitngalow.  Thus 
European  officers  object ;  so  it  is  always  na-mun- 
zoor^^  (refused). 

The  sound  of  the  familiar  formula  drove  the 
hope  from  the  old  man's  face ;  his  thin  shoulders 
seemed  to  droop,  but  he  said  nothing. 

"  How  long  has  this  been  going  on  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Fourteen  years.  Sir.  Always  on  transference 
of  officers,  and  it  is  always  na-munzoo7\^^  He  dipped 
his  pen  in  the  ink,  gave  it  the  premonitory  flick. 

^'Mu7izoor^'  (granted),  said  I,  in  a  sudden  de- 
cision.      ^'- Munzoor  during  the  term  of  my  office." 

That  was  but  a  month.  I  was  only  a  locum 
teyiens  during  leave.  Only  a  month,  and  the  poor 
old  beggar  had  waited  fourteen  years  to  praise 
God  on  the  little  drum  !  The  pathos  and  bathos 
of  it  hit  me  hard  ;  but  a  stare  of  infinite  surprise 
had  replaced  the  circumambient  smile.  The  faJceer 
himself  seemed  flabbergasted.  I  think  he  felt  lost 
without  his  petition,  for  I  saw  him  fumbling  in 
his  pocket  as  the  janissaries  hustled  him  out  of 
court,  as  janissaries  love  to  do,  east  or  west. 

That  night,  as  I  was  wondering  if  I  had  smoked 
enough  and  yawned  enough  to  make  sleep  possi- 
ble in  a  hundred  degrees  of  heat,  and  a  hundred 
million  mosquitoes,  I  was  suddenly  reminded  of  the 
proverb  "Charity  begins  at  home,"     It  had,  with 


372  THE  fakeer's  drum 

a  vengeance.  I  had  thought  my  sarishtidar  s  lan- 
guage a  trifle  too  picturesque ;  now  I  recognised 
its  supreme  accuracy.  T\\q fakeer  was  "a  damnably 
noiseful  man."  It  is  useless  trying  to  add  one 
iota  to  this  description,  especially  to  those  unac- 
quainted with  the  torture  of  an  Indian  drum.  By 
dawn  I  was  in  the  saddle,  glad  to  escape  from  my 
own  house  and  the  ceaseless  "  Mump  a- turn- turn  ^'^ 
which  was  driving  me  crazy. 

When  I  returned,  the  old  man  was  awaiting  me 
in  the  verandah,  his  face  full  of  a  great  content; 
and  the  desire  to  murder  him,  which  rose  up  in 
me  with  the  thought  of  the  twenty-nine  nights 
yet  to  come,  faded  before  it.  Perfect  happiness 
is  not  the  lot  of  many,  but  apparently  it  was  his. 
He  salaamed  down  to  the  ground.  '•'- Huzoor^'"  he 
said,  "the  great  joy  in  me  created  a  disturbance 
last  night.  It  will  not  occur  again.  The  Pro- 
tector of  the  Poor  shall  sleep  in  peace,  even  though 
his  slave  praises  God  for  him  all  night  long.  The 
Almighty  does  not  require  a  loud  drum." 

I  said  I  was  glad  to  hear  it,  and  my  self-com- 
placency grew  until  I  laid  my  head  on  the  pillow 
somewhat  earlier  than  usual.  Then  I  became 
aware  of  a  faint  throbbing  in  the  air,  like  that 
which  follows  a  deep  organ  note  —  a  throbbing 
which  found  its  way  into  the  drum  of  my  ear  and 
remained  there  —  so  faint   that   it  kept   me   on  the 


THE  fakeer's  drum  373 

rack  to  know  if  it  had  stopped  or  was  still  go- 
ing on.     "  Rumpa-tum-tiim-tum^  rumpa-tum-tum-tum^ 

rumpa "     Even  now  the  impulse  to   make  the 

hateful  rhythm  interminable  seizes  on  me.  I  have 
to  lay  aside  my  pen  and  take  a  new  one  before 
going  on. 

I  draw  a  veil  over  the  mental  struggle  which 
followed.  It  would  have  been  quite  easy  to  rescind 
my  permission,  but  the  thought  of  one  month  versus 
fourteen  years  roused  my  pride.  As  representative 
of  the  '•'almighty  wictoria,  reg.  hritamiicorum,'"  etc., 
I  had  admitted  this  man  to  the  privileges  of  prais- 
ing God  on  the  little  drum,  and  there  was  an  end 
of  it.  But  the  effort  left  my  nerves  shattered  with 
the  strain  put  on  them.  It  was  the  middle  of  the 
hot  weather  —  that  awful  fortnight  before  the  rains 
break  —  I  was  young  —  absolutely  alone.  Every 
morning  as  I  rode,  a  perfect  wreck,  past  the  fakeers 
hovel  by  the  gate,  he  used  to  ask  me  if  I  had  slept 
well,  and  I  lied  to  him.  What  was  the  use  of 
suffering  if  no  one  was  the  happier  for  it? 

At  last,  one  evening  — it  Avas  the  twenty -first, 
I  remember,  for  I  ticked  them  off  on  a  calendar 
like  any  schoolboy  — I  sat  out  among  the  olean- 
ders, knowing  that  sleep  was  mine.  The  rains  had 
broken,  a  cool  wind  stirred  the  dripping  trees,  the 
fever  of  unrest  was  over.  Clouds  of  winged  white 
ants  besieged   the  lamp :    what  wonder,  when   the 


374  THE  fakeer's  drum 

rafters  of  the  old  bungalow  were  riddled  almost 
beyond  the  limits  of  safety  by  their  galleries  ?  But 
what  did  I  care  ?  I  was  going  to  sleep.  And  so 
I  did,  like  a  child,  until  close  on  the  dawn.  And 
then  —  by  heavens,  it  was  too  bad  !  In  the  ve- 
randah  surely,   not   faint,    but    loudly   imperative : 

"  RUMPA-TUM-TUM-TUM  !  " 

I  was  out  of  bed  in  an  instant  full  of  fury. 
The  fiend  incarnate  must  be  walking  round 
the  house.  I  Avas  after  him  in  the  moonlight. 
Not  a  sign ;  the  white  oleanders  were  shining  in 
the  dark  foliage;   a  firefly  or  two  —  nothing  more. 

"  Rumpa-tum-tum-tum  !  "  Fainter  this  time  round 
the    corner. 

Not  there  ! 

''^  Mumjm-tum-tum-tum ! '^  A  mere  whisper  now, 
but  loud  enough  to  be  traced.  So  on  the  track, 
I  was  round  the  house  to  the  verandah  w^hence  I 
had  started. 

No  sign  —  no  sound  ! 

Gracious  !  what  was  that  ?  A  crash,  a  thud, 
a  roar  and  rattle  of  earth  I     The  house  I  the  roof  ! 

When  by  the  growing  light  of  dawn  we  in- 
spected the  damage,  Ave  found  the  biggest  rafter 
of  all  lying  right  across  the  pillow  where  my  head 
had  been  two  minutes  before.  The  first  sunbeams 
were  on  the  still  sparkling  trees  when,  full  of  curi- 
osity, I  strolled  over  to  the  fakeers   hut.     It  also 


THE  pakeer's  drum  '  375 

was  a  heap  of  ruins,  and  when  we  dug  the  old 
man  out  from  among  the  ant-riddled  rafters  the 
doctor  said   he  had  been   dead  for  many  hours. 

This  story  may  seem  strange  to  some  ;  others 
will  agree  with  my  sarishtidar,  who,  after  spending 
the  morning  over  a  Johnson's  dictionary  and  a 
revenue  report,  informed  me  that  "such  catas- 
trophes are  but  too  common  in  this  unhappy  land 
after  heavy  rain  following  on  long-continued 
drought." 


AT   HER   BECK   AND   CALL 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Phooli-jan,  Huzoo}\''  she  answered,  with  a  brill- 
iant, dazzling  smile. 

I  sat  looking  at  her,  wondering  if  a  more  ap- 
propriate name  could  have  been  found  for  that 
figure  among  the  anemones  and  celandines,  the 
primulas,  pansies,  and  pinks  —  the  thousand-and- 
one  blossoms  which,  glowing  against  their  ground- 
work of  forget-me-not,  formed  a  jewel-mosaic  right 
to  the  foot  of  the  snows  above  us.  Floiverful  life  ! 
Truly  that  was  hers.  She  had  a  great  bunch  of 
scarlet  rhododendron  stuck  behind  her  ear,  match- 
ing the  cloth  cap  perched  jauntily  on  her  head, 
and  as  she  sat  herding  her  buffaloes  on  the  up- 
land she  had  threaded  chaplet  on  chaplet  of  ox- 
eyed  daisies,  and  hung  them  about  her  Avherever 
they  could  be  hung.  The  result  was  distinctly 
flowerful ;  her  face  also  was  distinctly  pretty,  dis- 
tinctly clean  for  a  Kashmiri  girl's.  But  coquette, 
flirt,   minx,   was   written   in   every  line   of   it,  and 

376 


AT  HER   BECK   AND   CALL  377 

accounted  for  a  most  unusual  neatness  and  bright- 
ness. 

She  caught  my  eye  and  smiled  again,  broadly, 
innocently. 

''  The  Huzoor  would  like  to  paint  my  picture, 
wouldn't  he  ?  "  she  went  on,  in  a  tone  of  certainty. 
^'  The  Sahib  who  came  last  year  gave  me  five 
rupees.  I  will  take  six  this  year.  Food  is  dear, 
and  those  base-born  contractors  of  the  Maharajah 
seize  everything  —  one  walnut  in  ten,  one  chicken 
in  ten." 

But  I  was  not  going  to  be  beguiled  into  the  old 
complaints  I  could  hear  any  and  every  day  from 
the  hags  of  the  village.  Up  here  on  the  murg, 
within  a  stone's-throw  of  the  first  patch  of  snow 
picketing  the  outskirts  of  the  great  glacier  of 
Gwashbrari,  I  liked,  if  possible,  to  forget  how  vile 
man  could  be  in  the  little  shingle  huts  clustering 
below  by  the  river.  I  will  not  describe  the  place. 
To  begin  with  it  defies  description,  and  next,  could 
I  even  hint  at  its  surpassing  beauty,  the  globe- 
trotter would  come  and  defile  it.  It  is  sufficient 
to  say  that  a  murg  is  an  upland  meadow  or  alp, 
and  that  this  one,  with  its  forget-me-nots  and 
sparkling  glaciers,  was  like  a  turquoise  set  in  dia- 
monds. I  had  seated  myself  on  a  projecting  spur, 
whence  I  could  sketch  a  frowning  defile  north- 
wards, down   which   the    emerald -green    river    was 


378  AT   HER   BECK   AND   CALL 

dashing  madly  among  huge  rocks  crowned  by  pine- 
trees. 

"  I  will  give  live  rupees  also ;  that  is  plenty,"  I 
remarked  suavely,  and  Phooli-jan  smiled  again. 

"It  must  do,  for  I  like  being  painted.  Only  a 
few  Sahibs  come,  very  few ;  but  whenever  they 
see  me  they  w^ant  to  paint  me  and  the  flowers, 
and  it  makes  the  other  girls  in  the  village  angry. 

Then  Goloo  and  Chuchchu "    Here  she  went  off 

into  a  perfect  cascade  of  smiles,  and  began  to  pull 
the  eyelashes  off  the  daisies  deliberately.  Tliere 
seems  a  peculiar  temptation  in  girlhood  for  cruelty 
towards  flowers  all  over  the  world,  and  Phooli-jan 
was  pre-eminently  girlish.  She  looked  eighteen, 
but  I  doubt  if  she  was  really  more  than  sixteen. 
Even  so,  it  was  odd  to  find  her  unappropriated,  so 
I  inquired  if  Goloo  or  Chuchchu  was  the  happy 
man. 

"My  mother  is  a  widow,"  she  replied  without 
the  least  hesitation.  "  It  depends  which  will  pay 
the  most,  for  we  are  poor.  There  are  others,  too, 
so  there  is  no  hurry.  They  are  at  my  beck  and 
call." 

She  crooked  her  forefinger  and  nodded  her  head 
as  if  beckoning  to  some  one.  For  sheer  light- 
hearted,  innocent  enjoyment  of  her  own  attraction 
I  never  saw  the  equal  of  that  face.  I  should  have 
made  my  fortune  if   1  could  have  painted  it  there 


AT   HER    BECK   AND   CALL  379 

in  the  blazing  sunlight,  framed  in  flowers  ;  but  it 
was  too  much  for  me.  Therefore,  I  asked  her  to 
move  to  the  right,  further  along  the  promontory, 
so  that  I  could  put  her  in  the  foreground  of  the 
picture  I  had  already  begun. 

"  There,  by  that  first  clump  of  iris,"  I  said,  point- 
ing to  a  patch  of  green  sword-leaves,  where  the 
white  and  lilac  blossoms  were  beginning  to  show. 

She  gave  a  perceptible  shudder. 

"What?  Sit  on  a  grave!  Not  I.  Does  not 
the  Huzoor  know  that  those  are  graves?  It  is 
true.  All  our  people  are  buried  here.  We  plant 
the  iris  over  them  always.  If  you  ask  why,  I 
know  not.     It  is  the  flower  of  death." 

A  sudden  determination  to  paint  her,  the  Flower- 
ful  Life  against  the  Flowerful  Death,  completely 
obliterated  the  knowledge  of  my  own  incompe- 
tence ;  but  I  urged  and  bribed  in  vain.  Phooli- 
jau  would  not  stir.  She  would  not  even  let  me 
pick  a  handful  of  the  flowers  for  her  to  hold.  It 
was  unlucky;  besides,  one  never  knew  what  one 
might  find  in  the  thickets  of  leaves — bones  and 
horrid  things.  Had  I  never  heard  that  dead  peo- 
ple got  tired  of  their  graves  and  tried  to  get  out  ? 
Even  if  they  only  wanted  something  in  their  graves 
they  would  stretch  forth  a  hand  to  get  it.  That 
was  one  reason  why  people  covered  them  up  with 
flowers  —  just  to  make  them  more  contented. 


380  AT  HER  BECK  AND  CALL 

The  idea  of  stooping  to  cull  a  flower  and  shak- 
ing hands  with  a  corpse  was  distinctly  unpleasant, 
even  in  the  sunlight ;  so  I  gave  up  the  point  and 
began  to  sketch  the  girl  as  she  sat.  Rather  a 
difficult  task,  for  she  chattered  incessantl}^  Did 
I  see  that  thin  blue  thread  of  smoke  in  the  dark 
pall  of  pine-trees  covering  the  bottom  of  the  val- 
ley? That  was  Goloo's  fire.  He  was  drying  orris 
root  for  the  Maharajah.  There,  on  the  opposite 
viurg^  where  the  buffaloes  showed  dark  among  the 
flowers,  was  Chuchchu's  hut.  Undoubtedly,  Chuch- 
cliu  was  the  richer,  but  Goloo  could  climb  like  an 
ibex.  It  was  he  whom  the  Huzoor  was  going  to 
take  as  a  guide  to  the  peak.  He  could  dance, 
too.  The  Huzoo?'  should  see  him  dance  the  circle 
dance  round  the  fire  —  no  one  turned  so  slowly  as 
Goloo.  He  would  not  frighten  a  young  lamb,  ex- 
cept when  he  was  angry  —  well,  jealous,  if  the 
Huzoor  thought  that  a  better  word. 

By  the  time  she  had  done  chattering  there  was 
not  a  petal  left  on  the  ox-eyed  daisies,  and  I  was 
divided  between  pity  and  envy  towards  Goloo  and 
Chuchchu. 

That  evening,  as  usual,  I  set  my  painting  to  dry 
on  the  easel  at  the  door  of  the  tent.  As  I  lounged 
by  the  camp  fire,  smoking  my  pipe,  a  big  young 
man,  coming  in  with  a  jar  of  buffalo  milk  on  his 
shoulder  and  a  big  bunch  of  red  rhododendron  be- 


AT   HER    BECK    AND   CALL  381 

hind  his  ear,  stopped  and  grinned  at  my  caricatnre 
of  Phooli-jan.  Five  minutes  after,  down  by  the 
servants'  encampment,  I  heard  a  free  fight  going 
on,  and  strolled  over  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 
After  the  manner  of  Kashmiri  quarrels,  it  had 
ended  almost  as  it  began ;  for  the  race  love  peace. 
That  it  had  so  ended  was  not,  however,  I  saw  at 
a  glance,  the  fault  of  the  smaller  of  the  antago- 
nists, who  was  being  forcibly  held  back  by  my 
shikari. 

"  Chuchchu,  that  man  there,  wanted  to  charge 
Goloo,  this  man  here,  the  same  price  for  milk  as 
he  does  your  honour,"  explained  the  shikari  elabo- 
rately. "  That  was  extortionate,  even  though  Go- 
loo, being  the  Huzoor's  guide  for  to-morrow,  may 
be  said  to  be  your  honour's  servant  for  the  time. 
I  have  settled  the  matter  justly.  The  Huzoor  need 
not  give  thought  to  it." 

I  looked  at  the  two  recipients  of  Phooli-jan's 
favour  with  interest  —  for  that  the  bunches  of  red 
rhododendron  they  both  wore  were  her  gift  I  did 
not  doubt.  They  were  both  fine  young  men,  but 
Goloo  was  distinctly  the  better-looking  of  the  two, 
if  a  trifle  sinister. 

Despite  the  recommendation  of  my  shikai'i  to 
cast  thought  aside,  the  incident  lingered  in  ni}^ 
memory,  and  I  mentioned  it  to  Phooli-jan  when, 
on    returning   to    finish    my   sketch,    I    found    her 


382  AT    HER    BECK   AND    CALL 

waiting  for  me  among  the  flowers.  Her  smile  was 
more  brilliant  than  ever. 

"  They  will  not  hurt  each  other,"  she  said. 
"  Chuchchu  knows  that  Goloo  is  more  active,  and 
Goloo  knows  that  Chuchchu  is  stronger.  It  is 
like  the  dogs  in  our  village." 

"I  was  not  thinking  of  them,"  I  replied;  "I 
was  thinking  of  you.  Supposing  they  were  to 
quarrel  with  you  ?  " 

She  laughed.  "  They  will  not  quarrel.  In  sum- 
mer time  there  are  plenty  of  flowers  for  everybody." 

I  thought  of  those  red  rhododendrons,  and  could 
not  repress  a  smile  at  her  barefaced  wisdom  of  the 
serpent. 

"  And  in  the  winter  time  ?  " 

''Then  I  will  marry  one  of  them,  or  some  one. 
I  have  only  to  choose.  That  is  all.  They  are  at 
my  beck  and  call." 

Three  years  passed  before  recurring  leave  en- 
abled me  to  pay  another  visit  to  the  murg.  The 
rhododendrons  were  once  more  on  the  uplands, 
and  as  I  turned  the  last  corner  of  the  pine-set 
path  which  threaded  its  way  through  the  defile 
I  saw  the  meadow  before  me,  with  its  mosaic  of 
flowers  bright  as  ever.  The  memory  of  Phooli-jan 
came  back  to  me  as  she  had  sat  in  the  sunshine 
nodding  and  beckoning. 


AT   HER    BECK   AND   CALL  383 

"  Phooli-jan?  "  echoed  the  okl  patriarch  who  came 
out  to  welcome  me  as  I  crossed  the  phink  bridge 
to  the  village,  '' Phooli-jan,  the  herd-girl?  Huzoor^ 
she  is  dead  ;  she  died  from  picking  flowers.  A 
vain  thing.  It  was  at  the  turn  beyond  the  miirg^ 
Iluzoor^  half-way  between  Chuchchu's  hut  and 
Goloo's  drying  stage.  There  is  a  big  rhododen- 
dron tree  hanging  over  the  cliff,  and  she  must  have 
fallen  down.     It  is  three  years  gone." 

Three  years ;  then  it  must  have  happened  almost 
immediately  after  I  left  the  valley.  The  idea  up- 
set me  ;  I  knew  not  why.  The  miirg  without  that 
Flowerful  Life  nodding  and  beckoning  felt  empty, 
and  I  found  myself  wondering  if  indeed  the  girl 
had  fallen  doAvn,  or  if  she  had  played  with  flowers 
too  recklessly  and  one  of  her  lovers,  perhaps 
both It  was  an  idea  which  dimmed  the  sun- 
shine and  I  was  glad  that  I  had  arranged  not  to 
remain  for  the  night,  but  to  push  on  to  another 
meadow,  some  six  miles  farther  up  the  river.  To 
do  so,  however,  I  required  a  fresh  relay  of  coolies, 
and  while  my  shikari  was  arranging  for  this  in  the 
village  I  made  my  way  by  a  cross-cut  to  the  promon- 
tory, with  its  patches  of  iris. 

Deaths  are  rare  in  these  small  communities,  and 
there  were  but  two  or  three  new  graves  —  all  but 
one  too  recent  to  be  poor  Phooli-jan's.  That, 
then,   must   be   hers,  with   its   still   clearly    defined 


384  AT   HER   BECK   AND   CALL 

oblong  of  iris,  already  a  mass  of  pale  purple  and 
white. 

I  sat  down  on  a  rock  and  began,  unromantically, 
to  eat  my  lunch,  finishing  up  with  a  pull  at  my 
flask,  and  thus  providentially  fortified,  I  stooped, 
ere  leaving,  to  pick  one  or  two  of  the  blossoms  from 
the  grave,  intending  to  paint  them  round  the  sketch 
of  the  girl's  head  which  I  had  with  me. 

Great  heavens !  what  was  that  ? 

I  turned  positively  sick  with  horror  and  doubt. 
Was  it  a  hand  ?  It  was  some  time  before  I  could 
force  myself  to  set  aside  the  sheathing  leaves  and 
settle  the  point.  Something  it  was,  something 
which,  even  as  I  parted  the  stems,  fell  to  pieces, 
as  the  skeleton  of  a  beckoning  hand  might  have 
done.  I  did  not  stay  to  see  more ;  I  let  the  flowers 
close  over  it  —  whatever  it  was  —  and  made  my 
way  back  to  the  village.  My  baggage,  having 
changed  shoulders,  was  streaming  out  over  the 
plank  bridge  again,  and  in  the  two  first  bearers, 
carrying  my  cook-room  pots  and  pans,  I  recog- 
nised Goloo  and  Chuchchu.  They  had  both  grown 
stouter,  and  wore  huge  bunches  of  red  rhododen- 
dron behind  their  ears.  I  found  out,  on  inquiry, 
that  they  were  both  married  and  had  become 
bosom  friends. 

I  have  not  seen  the  turquoise  set  in  diamonds 
since,  but  I  often  tliiuk  of  it,  and   wonder  what  it 


AT   HER   BECK   AKD   CALL  385 

was  I  saw  among  tlie  iris.  And  then  I  seem  to 
see  Phooli-jan  sitting  among  the  flowers,  nodding 
her  head  and  saying,  "  Tliey  are  at  my  beck  and 
call/' 

If  I  were  Goloo  or  Chuchchu,  I  would  be  buried 
somewhere  else. 
2c 


MUSIC   HATH   CHARMS^ 

It  was  the  very  last  place  in  the  world  where 
you  would  have  expected  to  hear  the  notes  of  a 
church  harmonium  ;  and  the  old  man  who,  seated 
on  a  reed  stool,  was  playing  God  Save  the  Queen 
with  one  linger,  was  the  very  last  person  whom 
3^ou  would  have  expected  to  see  performing  upon 
it.  But  there  it  stood,  quite  at  home,  between,  the 
wooden  pillars  which  divided  the  central  living- 
room  from  the  crowd  of  latticed  closets  around 
it ;  and  there  he  sat,  quite  at  home,  on  the  stool, 
his  naked  brown  legs  struggling  with  the  bellows, 
his  brown  fingers  patting  down  the  keys  with  a 
sort  of  pompous  precision.  For  Punoo  was  a 
music-master,  and  that  was  his  pupil  who,  with 
a  yawn,  was  watching  his  proceedings  from  the 
iloor  while  she  threaded  beads  on  a  string  inter- 
mittently. That  was  also  the  last  place  from  which 
one  would  expect  any  one  to  take  a  music-lesson ; 
but  old  Punoo  being  blind  was  fully  persuaded 
that  Bahani  was  dutifully  at  his  elbow.  This 
1  Copyright,  IbiiG,  by  Macmillaii  &  Co. 
386 


MUSIC    HATH    CHARMS  387 

blindness  of  his  was,  however,  far  more  to  his 
advantage  than  his  disadvantage  as  a  master.  It 
was,  in  short,  the  cause  of  his  being  one  at  all  ; 
since  had  he  had  the  use  of  his  eyes  no  mother 
would  have  dreamed  of  employing  a  man,  who  was 
not  more  than  forty-five  at  the  outside,  in  teach- 
ing her  girls.  As  it  was,  his  time  was  fully  taken 
up  in  the  houses  of  the  clerks,  contractors,  barris- 
ters, and  such  like,  who  for  some  reason  or  another 
desired  to  impart  the  exotic  accomplishment  of 
music  to  their  daughters  or  wives.  But  of  all 
these  houses  Punoo  loved  the  one  which  contained 
the  harmonium  best ;  not  because  of  his  pupil, 
since  Bahani,  who  was  betrothed  to  a  young  man 
who  might  be  seen  any  day  on  a  Hammersmith 
omnibus  over  on  the  other  side  of  the  world,  never 
learned  anything  ;  but  because  of  the  instrument 
itself.  To  tell  truth  it  had  quite  a  fine  tone,  es- 
pecially when  all  the  wind  in  its  wheezy  bellows 
was  sent  into  one  note.  And  then  the  playing  of 
it  seemed  to  satisfy  him  from  head  to  foot.  All 
the  other  instruments,  the  accordions  and  concer- 
tinas, even  his  own  fiddle  with  seven  strings,  of 
which  he  was  really  very  fond,  only  employed  his 
head  and  his  hands ;  but  this  made  his  whole  body 
as  it  were  to  toil  and  labour  after  melody.  As 
he  sat,  his  forehead  bedewed  with  perspiration,  the 
expression  on  Ids  sightless  face,  turned  upwards  all 


388  MUSIC    HATH   CHAKMS 

unconscious  of  the  clingy,  sordid,  smoke-blackened 
rafters  wliicli  limited  his  vision,  was  quite  sufficient 
to  make  up  for  the  lack  of  it  in  the  music ;  it 
was  the  expression  of  a  prisoner  who,  through  the 
bars  of  a  cage,  sees  freedom.  But  the  odd  little 
gridiron  in  the  centre  of  the  dark  room,  which 
gave  it  some  light  and  air  from  the  roof  above, 
was  scarcely  large  enough  to  allow  even  of  Punoo's 
wizened  figure  to  pass  through. 

"  Lo,  it  gives  one  a  melting  of  the  liver,  and  a 
sinking  of  the  heart  to  hear  thee,  Master-jee,"  re- 
marked Mai  Kishnu,  bustling  in  with  a  handful  of 
radishes  for  the  pickle-stew.  "  Canst  not  play 
something  more  lively,  something  that  goes  not 
wombling  up  and  down  like  an  ill-greased  wheel, 
something  with  a  count  in  it  that  gives  a  body  time 
to  catch  the  beat  of  it  ?  For  sure  I  could  make 
better  music  with  my  ladle  and  tray ;  better  music 
for  a  bride  anyhow ;  and  mark  my  word,  Bahani, 
when  thou  art  really  one  there  shall  be  none  of 
this  hoo-hooing  and  ow-wowing^  that  might  set  free 
thoughts  of  Avolves  and  God  knows  what  monsters 
to   damage   all  thy  hopes." 

"  'Tis  not  likely,  Mai,"  said  Punoo,  desisting  to 
speak  with  great  dignity,  "  that  Bahani  will  have 
mastered  so  much.  'Tis  not  given  to  all  to  play 
God  Save  the   Queen  as  I  do." 

''  That  is  good  hearing  !  "    ejaculated   the  house- 


MUSIC    HATH   CHARMS  389 

mother  piously.  ^' But  the  girl  gets  on,  I  hope, 
Master  Punoo.  Her  fatlier  writes  of  it  often  ; 
and  the  instrument,  as  thou  knowest,  cost  fully 
ten  shillings." 

In    Punoo's   account,    which   he    retailed    to    his 
other  customers,  it  had  cost  five  times  that  amount, 
and  he  had  a  spirited    description    of   the    auction 
where  Colonels   and    Deputy-Sahibs,   and    Barrack- 
Masters  had  bidden  in  vain  against  Bahani's  father 
Mool  Chand,  who  was  municipal  clerk  in  an  out- 
lying  district.      According   to    Punoo   also    it   had 
cost    five    hundred    times    that    amount    when    the 
Padre   Sahib,  —  sometimes    it  was  the   Lord   Padre 
Sahib— (the  Bishop), —had   sent  for  it   originally 
from  England.     There  was  a  further  legend,  vague 
and  misty  even  to  himself,  which  he  kept  holy,  as 
it   were,  from  profane  use  by  locking   it  away  in 
his   own  breast,  which  hinted  that  the  harmonium 
had  been   thrown    on   the   market   from   no   desire 
to  get  rid  of  it,  but  simply  from  pecuniary  neces- 
sity ;  the  Chaplain  having  been  forced  into  selling 
his  greatest  treasure   in  order  to  pay  the   bill  for 
a   new   one.     To    tell    truth,    Punoo's   estimate    of 
the    harmonium    was    vague    and    misty    on    more 
points  than  this.     He  was,  in  fact,  absolutely  igno- 
rant  of   anything  concerning  it,  save   that   if   you 
blew  persistently  at   the   bellows   and   pressed   the 
keys   it   made    a    noise   which    somehow   or    other 


390  MUSIC    HATH    CHARMS 

seemed  to  set  3^ou  free,  and  yet  kept  you  longing 
for  something  more.  Punoo  knew  not  for  what, 
having  not  the  slightest  idea  that  he  had  been 
born  with  music  in  his  soul,  and  that  if  he  had 
first  seen  tlie  light  in  the  Western  hemisphere  in- 
stead of  the  Eastern,  he  would  most  likely  have 
been  a  Wagnerite  or  some  other  kind  of  musical 
enthusiast. 

As  it  was,  to  oblige  Mai  Kishnu  he  played 
Mmnia  Punnieya  as  quickly  as  he  could,  though 
it  was  a  pain  and  grief  to  him  to  give  up  the  long- 
di'awn  notes  which  sounded  so  beautiful  in  God 
Save  our  Crracious  Queen.  But  Mai  Kishnu  stirred 
the  pickle-stew  to  the  new  rhythm,  emphasising  it 
properly  with  little  strokes  of  the  ladle  upon  the 
resounding  brass  pot.  Bahani,  she  said,  must 
learn  that  tune  against  her  man's  return  from 
being  made  into  a  halester  (barrister)  ;  whereat 
Bahani  with  the  utmost  decorum  giggled  and 
blushed  over  her  beads.  She  was  a  pretty,  pert 
girl,  who  looked  upon  the  future  with  perfect 
serenity ;  for  being  married  to  her  first  cousin 
whose  widowed  mother  lived  in  the  house,  she 
knew  exactly  what  the  amount  of  friction  between 
her  and  her  future  mother-in-law  would  be  ;  and 
knew  also  that  she  would  generally  be  able'  to 
escape  quietl}^  as  she  did  now,  from  the  scene  of 
conflict,  and   leave  the   two    elder   women  to   have 


MUSIC    HATH   CHARMS  391 

it  out  at  full  length  if   they  chose.     They  gener- 
ally did  choose,  because  they  nearly  always  had  an 
interested    audience  ;    for  the   quaint  rambling    old 
house  with   its  rabbit-warren   of   tiny  rooms  open- 
ing- out  to  little  bits  of  roof,  was  full  of  relations  ; 
chiefly  women  whose  husbands  were  away  in  Gov- 
ernment employ.     They  each  had  a  separate  lodg- 
ing, as  it   were,  though  they  were   quite   as   often 
in  some  one  else's  room  as  in  their  own,  especially 
when  the  sound  of  shrill  altercation  echoed  through 
the  wooden  partitions.     By  a  recognised  etiquette, 
however,  all  serious  disputes  were  carried  on  in  the 
well-room  where  the  women  bathed.     It  was  more 
a  verandah  than  a  room,  though  the  arches  were 
filled  up  breast-high   with  a   screening   wall.     But 
through    the   hole    in   the   floor,    above    which   the 
windlass  stood,  you  could  not  only  see  right  down 
into  the  well  on  the  basement  story,  but  also  see 
the  people  in   the    street   coming  for  their   water. 
It  was  when  Bahani  was  discovered  lying  flat  on 
the   floor  so  as  to    crane  over   and   peep   into   the 
very  street   itself,  that  the   fiercest   quarrels  arose 
between   Mai    Kishnu   and   her   widowed    sister-in- 
law.     And  no  quarrel  ever  ran  its  course  without 
a  reference  of   some   sort    to   the   harmonium,   and 
the  iniquity  and  idiotcy  of  learning  to  play  tunes 
as  if  you  were  a   bad  woman   in  the   bazaar.      In 
her  heart  of  hearts  Mai  Kishnu  agreed  with  this 


392  MUSIC    HATH   CHARMS 

view  of  the  question,  but  she  would  sooner  have 
died  than  confess  it,  so  she  invariably  carried  the 
war  into  the  enemy's  country  instead,  by  insist- 
ing on  it  that  Bahani  learned  in  deference  to  the 
oft-expressed  desire  of  her  lawful  husband,  that 
husband  being  the  complainant's  own  son.  And 
sometimes,  but  not  often,  for  she  was  a  faithful 
defender  of  the  absent  municipal  clerk,  she  would 
clinch  the  matter  by  telling  her  sister-in-law  that 
if  there  was  iniquity  or  idiotcy  about,  her  brother 
was  also  to  blame.  Whereupon  Radha,  who,  being 
the  widow  of  an  elder  brother,  really  was,  in  a  way, 
the  head  of  the  house,  would  retort  that  in  that  case 
it  was  all  the  more  necessary  for  the  women-folk  of 
the  family  to  remember  that  the  salvation  of  souls 
lay  with  them ;  so  she  would  beg  to  remind  all  pres- 
ent, that  this  being  a  dark  Saturday  or  a  light  Fri- 
day, with  some  particular  event  in  prospect  or  some 
particular  event  in  the  past,  it  behoved  no  pious 
women  of  that  family  to  eat,  say  radishes,  on  that 
day.  Now,  when  you  have  just  spent  much  time 
and  skill  in  the  preparing  of  pickles  for  a  large 
household,  it  is  aggravating  to  be  told  that  it  is  an 
impious  diet.  Still  there  was  always  the  obvious 
retort  that  on  such  days  widows  ate  nothing  at 
all.  So  then  Radha,  with  pharisaical  acquiescence, 
would  retire  to  her  own  little  bit  of  a  room,  with 
her   husband's   photograph    (he   had    been    a   clerk 


MUSIC    HATH   CHARMS  393 

also)  hung  between  two  German  prints  of  the 
Madonna  and  Herodias'  daughter  (which  did  duty 
respectively  for  the  infant  Krishna  and  Durga 
Devi  slaying  the  demons)  and  begin  counting  her 
beads  with  a  clatter,  and  repeating  her  texts  in 
an  aggressively  loud  voice  ;  while  Mai  Kishnu, 
after  sending  the  pickle-stew  of  radishes  down  in 
the  window-basket  as  an  alms  to  the  first  beggar 
in  the  street,  would  begin  to  cook  something  else  ; 
something  as  nasty  as  her  deft  hands  could  make 
it,  since  this,  oddly  enough,  relieved  her  feelings. 

But  Punoo  would  go  on  playing  Grod  Save  our 
G7'acious  Queeyi  on  the  old  harmonium  with  per- 
fect serenity,  all  unconscious  of  the  fact  that  two 
women  were  cursing  it  in  their  hearts  as  a  malevo- 
lent demon  bent  on  ruining  the  household.  It  was 
a  quaint  household  when  all  was  said  and  done, 
this  colony  of  women,  whose  husbands  were  for 
the  most  part  away  serving  the  Government  in 
remote  stations.  Quaintest  of  all  it  was,  perhaps, 
when  in  the  afternoon  the  boys  belonging  to  it 
(and  there  were  many,  thank  Heaven  !  despite  the 
demon)  came  home  from  school  ;  embryo  clerks 
full  of  classes  and  examinations,  yet  with  a  word 
or  two  for  "  crickets "  and  a  desire  for  pickled 
radishes  on  every  day  in  the  calendar. 

"Ask  your  Aunt  Radha,"  Mai  Kishnu  would 
say  shortly  to   their  remonstrances  over   the  nasty 


394  MUSIC    HATH   CHARMS 

substitute  for  the  delicacy.  '''Twas  she  forced  me 
into  giving  your  stoniachsful  of  my  best  pickles  to 
some  dirty  beast  of  a  beggar  in  the  street.  God 
forgive  me  if  he  was  a  holy  man,  but  he  may  have 
been  a  Mohammedan  for  all  I  know,  and  what 
good  will  that  do  to  my  soul  ?  " 

But  despite  the  ''  crickets "  and  the  examina- 
tions, despite  the  vague  leavening  of  Western  free- 
thought,  the  boys  fought  shy  of  their  Aunt  Radha, 
perhaps  from  the  veil  of  uncertainty  \vhich  their 
education  Avas  necessarily  throwing  over  all  things. 
There  were  so  many  ideas,  and  one  must  be  right ; 
it  might  be  this  one.  In  a  way  they  were  more 
afraid  of  her  and  her  views  than  Mai  Kishnu  was, 
who  never  doubted  at  all.  But  then  Mai  Kishnu 
knew  that  she  could  always  have  the  upper  hand 
over  her  sister-in-law  in  the  matter  of  cold  baths 
in  the  winter  mornings  ;  for  Radha  thought  twice 
about  interfering  with  the  beams  in  other  folks' 
eyes,  when  the  mote  of  her  own  about  warm  water 
for  religious  ablutions  was  ready  to  her  adversary's 
hand. 

The  boys,  however,  though  they  ate  the  nasty 
substitute  for  pickles  without  more  ado,  were  not 
so  biddable  in  the  matter  of  God  Save  the  Queen, 
As  they  sat  on  the  dark  flight  of  steps  between 
the  living-room  and  the  well-verandah  they  used 
to   pipe    away  at  it  in  English   in  the  oddest   fal- 


MUSIC    HATH    CHAllMS  395 

setto.  And  Bahani,  who  was  a  bit  of  a  tomboy, 
would  imitate  them,  and  then  go  into  fits  of  shrill 
laughter  at  her  own  gibberish. 

Altogether  it  was  a  very  quaint  household,  and 
it  was  a  very  quaint  noise  indeed  which  went 
up  to  high  Heaven  from  it ;  the  boys'  voices, 
Bahani's  mocking  laugh,  Radha's  muttered  texts, 
Mai  Kishnu's  vexed  clattering  of  her  ladles  and 
pots,  and  blind  Punoo's  perspiring  efforts  after 
melody  on  the  old  harmonium.  For  he  never  at- 
tempted liarmony;  that  was  beyond  his  self-taught 
execution  altogether.  But  the  sense  of  it  was 
there,  showing  itself  in  sheer  delight  at  pulling 
out  all  the  stops  that  still  existed,  and  blowing 
away  till  he  could  no  more  from  sheer  exhaustion. 

So  the  years  had  passed  contentedly  enough  for 
every  one ;  especially  for  the  old  music-master  who 
every  day  went  away  with  the  unleavened  cake, 
which  was  his  only  fee,  knowing  that  even  sucli 
payment  was  in  excess  of  his  desires,  since  it  was 
enough  for  him  to  have  the  honour  and  glory  of 
playing  on  the  harmonium,  and  of  boasting  about 
his  proficiency  on  that  instrument  to  his  other 
pupils  who  were  forced  to  be  content  with  an 
accordion  or  some  such  ignoble  instrument. 

And  then  one  day  the  funny,  old  rambling  house 
was  in  a  perfect  ferment  of  preparation,  and  even 
Radha's  face  was  beaming ;  for  her  son  was  coming 


39G  MUSIC    HATH   CHARMS 

home.  He  was  coming  from  the  Hammersmith 
omnibus  and  the  boarding-house  in  Notting  Hill, 
coming  from  the  rush  and  roar  of  London  to  take 
up  the  threads  of  life  again  in  the  dark  latticed 
rooms  where  Mai  Kishnu  made  pickles  and  his 
mother  said  her  prayers ;  above  all  Avhere  Bahani 
waited  for  him,  all  dyed  with  turmeric  and  henna, 
and  clothed  in  tinselled  garments.  The  little 
household  temple  up  on  the  roof,  where  there 
were  more  German  prints  doing  duty  as  various 
gods  and  goddesses,  had  scarcely  an  instant's  res- 
pite from  the  multitudinous  rituals  ;  and  if  there 
was  a  minute  or  two  to  spare,  the  women  down- 
stairs were  sure  to  remember  something  else  which 
if  left  undone  would  bring  the  most  direful  mis- 
fortune on  the  young  couple.  There  was  no  quar- 
relling now,  only  a  babel  of  shrill  kindly  voices. 
And  there  was  no  music,  save  of  a  kind  to  which 
Mai  Kishnu  could  clatter  her  ladles  and  pans ; 
drubbings  of  drums  and  endless  tinklings  of  sutaras 
—  for  the  good  lady  had  set  her  foot  down  as  re- 
gards the  harmonium,  even  to  the  extent  of  show- 
ing off  Bahani's  accomplishment.  Accomplishment 
forsooth !  What  need  was  there  of  such  fools' 
talk  between  a  newly -met  young  couple  ?  And 
though  Gunesha  had  come  back  from  the  other 
side  of  the  world  dressed  like  a  real  Sahib,  that 
did  not  prevent  his  being  a  young  man,  and  know- 


MUSIC    HATH   CHAlliyiS  397 

ing  a  pretty  bride  when  he  saw  one.  So,  thank 
heaven  !  there  they  were  at  last,  in  the  pleasant 
cool  upper  room  on  the  roof,  which  had  been  all 
newly  whitewashed  and  painted  and  strewn  Avith 
flowers  for  the  auspicious  occasion,  looking  into 
each  other's  eyes  as  young  people  should.  It  was 
all  so  proper,  so  touching,  so  infinitely  satisfactory, 
that  for  once  Kishnu  and  Radha  fell  on  each 
other's  necks  and  wept  tears  of  sympathy. 

But  Punoo  wandered  in  and  out  as  a  privileged 
guest  among  the  merry-making  and  the  bustle,  sid- 
ling up  to  his  closed  treasure,  feeling  it  all  over  in 
sightless  fashion,  and  longing  for  the  time  when  he 
should  be  called  upon,  as  the  bride's  master,  to  dis- 
play her  accomplishment ;  for  by  this  time  she  could 
play  Minnia  Punnieya  and  a  few  other  tunes  quite 
correctly.  But  the  days  passed,  and  those  two  on 
the  roof,  despite  music  and  culture,  despite  all  the 
sciences  and  all  the  'ologies,  were  quite  content  with 
those  things  which  had  contented  their  fathers  and 
mothers  before  them.  It  was  not  so  with  old  Punoo. 
Even  his  fiddle  afforded  him  no  comfort ;  and  though 
his  other  pupils'  accordions  and  concertinas  gave  him 
the  correct  musical  intervals  which  his  ear  ap^Droved 
instinctively,  but  which  his  hand  was  too  unpractised 
to  reproduce  with  the  accuracy  which  satisfied  him, 
they  were  poor  substitutes  for  that  splendid  tone 
which  was  born  of  vehement  pumping  and  perspira- 


398  MUSIC    HATH    CHARMS 

tion.  Perhaps  it  Avas  really  the  latter  he  craved  ; 
that  feeling  of  labouring  body  and  soul  to  give 
expression    to    something   within   him. 

Even  billing  and  cooing  like  a  couple  of  pigeons 
on  the  roof,  however,  must  come  to  an  end,  and  after 
some  three  weeks  of  it,  the  barrister  one  day  dis- 
covered that  there  was  a  harmonium  in  the  dark 
arches  of  the  living-room.  He  Avas  beginning  by 
this  time  to  think  that  he  had  perhaps  drifted  a  little 
too  far  back  into  the  old  life,  and  that  as  he  had 
every  intention,  when  this  first  very  natural  and  in- 
evitable relapse  was  over,  of  setting  up  house  on  more 
civilised  lines,  it  might  be  as  well  to  show  off  his 
new  habits  a  little,  and  so  emphasise  the  difference 
which  he  meant  to  draw  between  his  life  and  the  life 
led  in  the  quaint  old  ancestral  house.  So  without 
more  ado,  without  any  asking  of  how  it  came  there, 
or  who  played  on  it,  he  whisked  his  coat-tails  (for  he 
had  resumed  European  dress  on  his  descent  from 
the  roof)  over  the  music-stool  with  the  consummate 
air  of  a  performer  and  set  his  feet  to  the  pedals  and 
his  hands  to  the  keys. 

"What  a  wheezy  old  thing!"  he  cried,  when  a 
sort  of  agonised  moo  as  from  a  sick  cow  came  in  re- 
sponse. Bahani,  standing  decorously  in  the  shadow 
with  her  veil  down  in  most  alluring  bashfulness, 
tittered,  and  old  Punoo,  who  had  stood  still  in  sheer 
surprise,  moved  forward  with  a  superior  smile. 


MUSIC    HATH    CHARMS  399 

The  barrister  heard  and  saw,  and  a  frown  came  to 
his  self-satisfied  face.  "The  bellows  are  leaking," 
he  cried  again  ;  ''  but  never  mind,  it  shall  do  some- 
thing ;  ni  make  it !  " 

Something  indeed !  The  women  giggled  and 
stopped  their  ears,  but  old  Punoo  stood  transfixed,  a 
great  pain,  a  great  joy  coming  to  his  sightless  face. 
Was  that  the  harmonium  ?  Was  that  G-od  Save  the 
Queen^  that  pa^on  of  melody  and  harmony  together, 
coming  in  great  waves  of  sound  and  bearing  him 
away,  further  and  further  and  further  into  some  un- 
known land  that  was  yet  a  Land  of  Promise  ?  And 
all  these  years  he  had  lived  in  ignorance  ;  he  had 
boasted,  he  had  said  that  he  could  play  it,  his  price- 
less treasure  !  Priceless  I  ay,  he  had  been  right 
there.  Listen  to  it !  Was  it  not  priceless  ?  A  sort 
of  passion  of  pride  surged  up  in  him  overpowering 
all  thought  of  himself. 

Then  there  was  a  loud  crack,  a  wheeze,  a  sudden 
silence  ;  and  the  barrister  stood  up  wiping  his  fore- 
head, for  he  had  worked  hard.  "  That  has  done  for 
the  old  thing,"  he  said  with  a  laugh  ;  "  but  it  was 
past  work  anyhow,  and  I  prefer  a  piano  any  day  of 
the  week.  Don't  stand  in  the  corner,  Bahani.  You 
must  learn  to  behave  like  an  English  lady  now,  and 
there  is  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of  in  your  husband, 
I  assure  you." 

Mai  Kishnu  and  Radha  looked  at  each  other  as  if 


400  MUSIC    HATH    CHARMS 

for  support,  and  the  vague  affright  and  sheer  surprise 
of  their  faces  made  them  once  more  sympathetic. 
"  It  is  a  new  workl,  sister,"  whispered  the  one  to  the 
other  as  they  moved  off  respectively  to  their  prayers 
and  their  pickles,  leaving  the  barrister  making  love 
to  liis  bride  over  the  prospect  of  the  piano  he  was 
going  to  give  her. 

But  Punoo  moved  softly,  blindly,  over  to  his  old 
seat  and  set  his  feet  to  the  pedals  and  his  fingers  to 
the  keys.  But  no  sound  came  from  them,  not  even 
that  poor  travesty  of  Grod  Save  the  Queen  which  had 
once  filled  him  with  pride.  And  as  he  sat  fingering 
the  dumb  keys,  idly,  a  dim  content  that  it  should  be 
so  came  into  the  old  musician's  soul.  The  swan-song 
had  been  beautiful,  but  it  had  been  a  song  of  death. 
He,  after  all,  had.  known  the  harmonium  best. 


On  the  face  of  the  Waters 


FLORA   ANNIE   STEEL 

Author   of  ^^ Miss  Stuarfs  Legacy^''    ^^  The  Flozver  of  Forgiveness^* 
''Red  Rozvajis,^^  "  Tales  from  the  Punjab^''  etc.,  etc. 


(2mo.     Cloth.     $1.50 


"  We  have  read  Mrs.  Steel's  book  with  ever-increasing  surprise  and 
admiration.  It  is  a  most  wonderful  picture.  We  know  that  none  who 
lived  through  the  mutiny  will  lay  it  down  without  a  gasp  of  admiration, 
and  believe  that  the  same  emotion  will  be  felt  by  thousands  to  whom 
the  scenes  depicted  are  but  lurid  phantasmagoria."  —  77/^  Spectator. 

"  Mrs.  Steel  has  written  a  fine  novel,  whose  scene  is  laid  in  the 
world  Mr.  Kipling  was  the  first  to  make  real  to  us.  .  .  .  Books  like 
this  are  so  rare  that  it  is  difficult  to  welcome  them  too  warmly."  —  Pall 
Mall  Gazette. 

"  A  picture  glowing  with  colour,  of  the  most  momentous  and  dram- 
atic event  in  all  our  Empire's  later  history."  —  Daily  Chronicle. 

"There  is  no  arrest  in  the  march  of  her  narrative  ;  there  is  no  need- 
less display  of  historical  knowledge.  No  one  knows  India  better  than 
Mrs.  Steel."  —  Daily  Telegraph. 


THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

66  FIFTH  AVENUE,   NEW  YORK 

I 


MISS   STUART'S   LEGACY 


BY 


FLORA  ANNIE  STEEL 


l2mo.     Cloth.     $1.50 


"A  story  of  British  life  in  India  which  is  unusually  good.  .  .  . 
The  strength  of  the  story  lies  in  the  study  of  characters,  which  is  fine 
and  highly  sympathetic  in  its  interest,  and  in  the  descriptions  of  Indian 
life,  which  seem  more  realistic  than  any  we  have  met  with  before."  — 
The  Cincinnati  Comtncrcial  Gazette. 

"Those  who  have  read  Mrs.  Steel's  short  stories  will  be  prepared 
to  receive  her  novel,  'Miss  Stuart's  Legacy,'  as  very  good,  and  no 
disappointment  awaits  them.  .  .  .  There  is  no  novel-writing  English- 
woman who  has  better  material  than  Mrs.  Steel,  and  what  other 
makes  better  use  of  such  material  than  she  has?" — The  Boston 
Herald. 

"  The  story  is  a  delightful  one,  with  a  good  plot,  an  abundance  of 
action  and  incident,  well  and  naturally  drawn  characters,  excellent 
in  sentiment,  and  with  a  good  ending.  Its  interest  begins  with  the 
opening  paragraph,  and  is  well  sustained  to  the  end.  Mrs.  Steel 
touches  all  her  stories  with  the  hand  of  a  master,  and  she  has  yet  to 
write  one  that  is  in  any  way  dull  or  uninteresting."  —  7he  Christian 
at  Work. 


THE   MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

66  FIFTH  AVENUE,   NEW  YORK 


The  Flower  of  Forgiveness 

AND   OTHER   STORIES 


BY 

FLORA  ANNIE  STEEL 


l2mo.     Cloth.     $1.50 


"  Each  story  in  this  volume  is  a  Hterary  gem,  and  the  reader  will 
find  a  strange,  weird  fascination  on  every  page."  —  Boston  Daily 
Advertiser. 

"  Mrs.  Steel  has  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  mental  operations  of  the 
followers  of  Brahma  or  Mohammed,  and  in  the  'Flower  of  Forgive- 
ness' reveals  to  us  the  poetic  side  of  the  Hindoo's  nature  as  no 
other  writer  with  whom  we  are  famihar  has  revealed  it.  These 
stories  have  the  charm  of  mystical  poetry  ;  they  are  studies  in  char- 
acter, like  nothing  else  in  contemporary  literature."  —  Chicago  Even- 
ing Post. 

"  Mrs.  Flora  A.  Steel's  '  Flower  of  Forgiveness '  contains  more  of 
the  strong  studies  of  life  in  India,  of  the  great  merit  of  which  we 
have  already  spoken.  There  is  found  here  an  intimate  knowledge 
of  the  subject  together  with  a  vast  sympathy  with  native  feeling  and 
native  suffering.  The  stories  are  intense,  often  tragic  with  the  tragedy 
of  humble  sacrifice  and  pain,  and  yet  with  ghmpses  of  Anglo-Indian 
fun  here  and  there."  —  The  Outlook. 


THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

66  FIFTH  AVENUE,    NEW  YORK 

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RED    ROWANS 


FLORA  ANNIE  STEEL 


l2mo.     Cloth.    $1.50 


"  Richness  of  description  and  dramatic  power  are  the  conspicuous 
traits  called  forth  in  Mrs.  Steel's  latest  noweV  —  A/dany  Times- 
Union. 

"  It  is  much  for  her  art  that  the  tragic  close  seems  as  purely  acci- 
dental as  a  real  occurrence,  and  that  the  rest  of  the  book  is  as 
wholesome  and  sweet  and  fresh  as  the  moorland  air  itself,  —  and 
those  who  love  Scotland  know  what  this  praise  means." — Boston 
Evening  Transcript. 

"A  love  story,  simple,  sweet,  and  true,  is  a  joy  to  all  impressible 
young  readers'  hearts.  A  real  fascination  possesses  every  page  of 
this  novel.  The  story  is  artistically  told,  the  construction  is  skilfully 
ingenious.  The  author's  practised  pen  achieves  an  effective  picture 
with  few  and  rapid  strokes,  the  narrative  is  animated  and  poetic 
in  spirit,  and  the  style  is  that  of  one  accustomed  to  none  but  the 
best  and  purest  forms  of  expression.  The  character-sketching  is 
done  with  a  delicacy  of  strength  and  a  careless  felicity  that  will 
delight  all  readers  who  partake  of  this  choice  banquet  of  ideal  fiction." 
—  Boston  Courier. 


THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

66  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 
4 


TALES   OF   THE   PUNJAB 

TOLD   BY   THE   PEOPLE 

BY 

FLORA  ANNIE  STEEL 

With  Illustrations  by  J.  Lockwood  Kipling,   CLE.,  and  Notes  by 
R.  C.  Temple. 


l6mo.     Cloth,  Gilt.     $2.00 


"A  book  that  will  be  welcomed  no  less  eagerly  by  the  children 
than  by  students  of  folklore  from  a  scientific  standpoint  is  Mrs. 
Steel's  collection  of  Indian  stories,  entitled  'Tales  of  the  Punjab.' 
They  were  taken  down  by  her  from  the  very  lips  of  the  natives  in 
some  of  the  most  primitive  districts  in  India.  Yet  these  tales,  handed 
down  solely  by  word  of  mouth  from  one  generation  to  another,  could 
hardly  be  distinguished  from  those  in  a  Teutonic  collection  like  that 
of  the  Brothers  Grimm ;  and  even  closer  examination  serves  only  to 
impress  upon  us  more  strongly  than  ever  before  the  unity  of  the  great 
Indo-European  family  of  nations." — Nashville  Banner. 

"  It  is  not  often  that  a  book  will  appeal  at  once  to  the  child  and 
the  scientist.  The  stories  of  this  collection  will  not  only  amuse  the 
juveniles,  but  as  unwitting  revelations  of  the  roots  of  Hindoo  char- 
acter and  customs  they  would  secure  the  attention  of  a  Darwin." 
—  Christian  Leader. 

"  We  know  of  nothing  just  like  these  stories  in  folklore  literature, 
certainly  of  nothing  more  charming.  The  stories  themselves,  as  they 
have  been  rendered  by  Mrs.  Steel,  will  delight  the  children,  and  the 
notes  by  Mr.  Temple  will  be  found  of  great  value  by  the  students  of 
folklore.  Mr.  Kipling's  illustrations  are  eminently  appropriate  and 
lifelike."  —  Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 


THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

66  FIFTH  AVENUE,   NEW  YORK 

5 


IN    THE    TIDEWAY 


BY 


FLORA  ANNIE  STEEL 


l6mo.     Cloth.     $1.25 


"  Mrs.  Steel  has  the  rare  gift  of  charming  the  eye  and  touching  the 
fancy.  As  one  turns  page  after  page  he  marvels  and  is  moved,  is 
interested  and  expectant,  until  the  last  page  is  reached."  —  Philadelphia 
Evening  Record. 

"The  story  exhibits  power,  grace,  ease,  and  virility  in  every  chapter, 
each  one  of  which  is  a  romantic  poem.  The  narrative  is  an  animated 
one  from  the  start,  and  exhibits  much  skill  as  well  as  true  poetry  in 
its  development.  The  character-sketching  is  delightful,  the  Scottish 
and  Norse  personnel  being  particularly  true  and  enjoyable."  —  Boston 
Courier. 

"  Mrs.  Steel  has  done  some  striking  work  in  this  fragment  of 
romance,  and  it  will  increase  her  already  great  repute."  —  Ne%v  York 
Tribune. 

"There  is  a  richness  of  description  and  no  little  dramatic  power 
in  this  story  of  love  and  fate.  It  is  a  tale  admirably  told,  and  out  of 
the  ordinary  run  of  plot."  —  St.  Louis  Globe-Democrat. 


THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

66  FIFTH  AVENUE,   NEW  YORK 
6 


TB 


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